The 'Mon In The High Castle
by Incanto
Summary: The Dark Network spans the Digital World. The Digidestined are slain, imprisoned or scattered. All because, some ten years ago, Etemon won the war.
1. Prologue

Prologue

"Demidevimon!" The call echoed up and down the corridors of the pyramid, harsh and full of authority. "Demidevimon?" Again, softer, almost plaintive.

"The master speaks." The Gazimon noted wryly, glancing up from his console. 

"Eh, let him speak. 'S a free country…well, at least for him." Spitting his crumpled cigarette into a nearby waste receptacle, Demidevimon resumed his orbit around the Gazimon's head. Of all the ridiculous customs Datamon had introduced, this was the only one he enjoyed. The bitter, organic rods were no good to eat, but when lit, they produced a pleasant, pungent odor that was strangely addictive. Demidevimon reeked of it, which was occasionally a source of complaint among his subordinates, but he was certain it was out of jealousy. Only the highest-ranking officers were allowed the privilege of smoking, and no-one, save the king himself, outranked Demidevimon. Hero of the Crest War, promoted overnight from coffee fetcher to official royal emissary, he had been overjoyed, but the post had quickly lost its novelty. Now, he would have taken a job among the Numemon just to get out of the palace. He had not been a professional sidekick for nearly thirty years without learning something about the temperament of villains, and his current master was more temperamental than most. Still, in those thirty years, he had become the only one capable of dealing with the King.

"So, uh…what's the problem here?" He rasped.

"Snag in the dark network. Here, on the border of sectors 8.03 and 8.04, the cable's been severed in two places." The Gazimon indicated the screen, where a patch of whiteness signified the blind spot. "Now, the way I see it, there are three possibilities. If it's a hardware problem, i.e a wild Monochromon got caught in the wires; we can dispatch a team and have it fixed within the week. If it's a software problem, that means an error in the coding, which could take months to locate and longer to repair. We might have to overhaul the entire network, which would mean instating martial law."

"Or…" Demidevimon prompted. Something in the Gazimon's tone indicated that the worst-case scenario was yet to come.

"Sabotage. Unlikely, since the network failed to detect anything in the vicinity. Still, we know it only records data at fifteen-minute intervals. It would be conceivable to launch a precision aerial assault, sever the cable and then fly out of range of the sensors. I can only think of a few Digimon capable of that, and the entire operation would take either considerable resources, or an insider, probably in Datamon's department. Either way…"

"Demidevimon!" The call repeated a third time, cutting off the Gazimon's exposition. "I know you're out there, man, I hear ya flappin' around…" Demidevimon and the Gazimon exchanged a piteous glance, and the royal emissary glided off down the corridor, cursing under his breath.

"You rang, boss?" The throne room was long and high-vaulted, lit by a single row of spectral lamps down the center. Shadows clung to the corners and alcoves, lending the place a deserted appearance. At the very end, surrounded by glowing monitors, was the Spartan throne, its simple metal back to Demidevimon. He fluttered toward it, wingbeats heavy, feeling his age. At last, he alighted on the dais, coughing loudly from the exertion of flight. 

"That you, D.D? Come here, into the light, where I can see ya." A voice, seeming distant and disincarnate, filled the chamber. That voice, once proud and arrogant, the scourge of Digital World, was now pained and forlorn. There was no love lost between master and servant, but still, it pained Demidevimon to see the king reduced to this. He hardly ever left the throne room now, his concerts had grown few and far between, he never spoke in person, only watched his guests in the monitors. 

"What's eatin' you, chief?" The emissary inquired, squinting at his master through the gloom. The king gave a long, rattling sigh.

"Feeling old, D.D. It's been…how long? Four, five years? Feeling old. Past my prime." Etemon ran a hand through his graying mane, a hair coming loose in his fingers. Robed as he was in shadows, sunken in his throne, he still retained some of his former menace. Still, his face was lined, and his muscular form broken and bloated. He had traded his sunglasses for a pair of vision-enhancers, through which he peered at Demidevimon. 

"Been there." The emissary sympathized, not entirely insincerely. "Face it, we really are getting old. Three years, maybe. Don't think of _now_, chief, try to remember the old days…the good times." Actually, it had been nearly ten years since the Crest War, but there was no need to remind him.

"Right. Good times." Etemon said, with a sad smile. "I could sing, then, sing better 'n anyone in the world…"

"Still can, boss. Still can."

"Right, right…time to face the music, D.D, I'm not the 'Mon I once was. You know…tell me something. You think…did they ever like my music, really? Did they clap 'cuz I could sing, or…was it just fear, you know?" The question hung in the air, unanswered. "Listen, D.D., like I said, face the music. There'll come a day…come a day when age catches up with me, you won't see my face 'round here no more…tell me, who's running my empire these days?"

"You, of course, chief!"

"C'mon, don't talk to my like I was some damn kid. You know what I mean."

"Gazimon. Name of Spencer." The emissary lied glibly. He could never tell Etemon the truth, of course; he'd go berserk.

"Huh? They givin' Digimon human names now? Something aint right 'bout that." Etemon scowled, but pursued the subject no further. "Like I was saying…I won't be around much longer, and…I need a 'Mon to fill my shoes."

"Aint no one could do that, boss."

"You could, D.D. You'll be around long after I'm gone, and…I can trust you. I can trust you to run things around here, 'till I'm reborn. You always served me faithfully, and you even killed that Digidestined kid…" 

Demidevimon still wore the crest around his neck, as a badge of honor. "Sure thing, boss." The emissary said with a smart salute. Somehow, he managed to keep his composure. No more brewing coffee, no more running errands, no more taking orders, no more…pain. Damn, he was so close…he, Demidevimon, lord of the digital world. Hmm, he liked the sound of that. He'd have to start planning immediately. He'd have to tell Datamon. Not the whole story, of course, but enough. "You can count on me."

The sun was setting on New Cairo, Etemon's capitol. Both literally and figuratively, the cloaked Pedestrian reflected as he walked down the main street, surrounded by blazing neon. The city gleamed like a jewel in the barren waste of the New Sahara, the setting sun reflecting off its steel façade. It was the heart of the Digital World, though its beating had been labored of late, its arteries clogged with the cholesterol of decadence. Well, maybe that was carrying a good metaphor a little too far. Datamon's influence was clear in the streetlights, stop signs and fire hydrants, all of which were strictly ornamental. That Digimon had a singular fascination with all things human, and a source for that information. Etemon's touch was also evident, not only in his image blazoned on shop signs and billboards, but also in the massive concert grounds near the center of the city, and the numerous music stores. Despite his use of it as a weapon, Etemon had the deepest respect for the musical medium and respected those proficient in it. The Pedestrian smirked under his hood, watching Etemon's empire disintegrate before him. Already, the citizens had begun too ignore his doctrines, and news of his decline was spreading like wildfire. Within the year, no doubt, he would be dead, and his empire would be torn apart in the ensuing power struggle. He smiled at that, but it offered little solace. The infrastructure was in place, the Dark Network spreading throughout the land, and it would not be easily removed. Even if his Capitol was razed and his successors slain, the Digital World would never be the same. And it could never bring his friends back. All trace of the smirk vanished from his face, and he quickened his pace. The white robe signified him as a veteran, a survivor of the Crest War. Considering his height, he could pass for an exceptionally lanky Gazimon. 

He had been away some time, too long, really. The city had changed, none of the streets or stores were familiar. Still, at least one landmark was constant-Digitamamon's bar, The Arm & Leg. The place was nearly empty, but the door was open, and light flooded from within. Dodging a Monochromon caravan, the Pedestrian entered, finding the place much as he had left it. Wooden chairs huddled around a few disparate tables, the path to the bar unobstructed. Behind it, the familiar restaurateur waited, beaming. A few patrons sat, hunched over their drinks, sunk in silent stupor. The Pedestrian took a seat near the end, not wanting to draw attention to himself, not wanting to invite inspection. He drew his hood down to obscure his eyes. However, no sooner had he taken a seat than another Digimon sat beside him, shorter, but likewise cloaked. He figured it was better not to ask questions, lest one should be asked in return. However, the stranger insisted on making conversation. The Pedestrian noticed he already nursed a mug of beer, half-drained. The fermented beverage had not achieved the popularity Datamon had expected, but it had a few dedicated consumers. 

"Veteran, eh?" The strange Digimon inquired in a reedy, somewhat familiar voice. The Pedestrian had encountered quite a few Digimon during his lifetime, and he was most likely familiar with this race. He nodded wordlessly in response to the inquiry.

"Did you ever see combat?" The stranger pressed.

"Yeah." The pedestrian replied at length. At that moment, Digitamamon appeared behind the counter.

"So, sir or possibly ma'am, what can my humble establishment offer you?" He asked, eyeing the Pedestrian greedily.

"Your cheapest drink." The pedestrian requested bluntly, slapping a wad of bills on the bar. Digitamamon scowled with his eyes, shuffling off to fulfill the cheapskate request. Nothing angered him more than cheapskates. Manipulating the tap with tar-like limbs, he poured a glass of generic beer for the Pedestrian, who stared at it for some time before speaking.

"I'd like to propose a toast." He called at last, turning to the stranger beside him. He raised the glass. "To the Digidestined, heroes, every one of them."

"Hear, hear." The stranger echoed, knocking the brim of his mug against the Pedestrian's. Beside him, a Tentomon added his voice to the proclamation. 

"Better not let Etemon here you. He'd have your head for that one." A Numemon from further down the bar called to him.

"Let him hear." The Pedestrian retorted. "I say they were heroes, and if he doesn't like that, well…he can…do _something_, that's what!" He finished uncertainly.

"Besides, he can't." The stranger added. "And here's to Tai, I wish him happiness, wherever he is…" Their glasses met, and they both took a swig.

_Clink._

"And here's to Sora, languishing in Datamon's dungeon…"

_Clink._

__"And here's to Matt, and Mimi, God rest their souls…"

_Clink._

__"And here's to little T.K, and to hell with Demidevimon…"

_Clink._

__"And here's to Izzy, the brightest kid there ever was!" The Tentomon piped.

_Clink._

"And to Joe Kido…may God forgive him…for failing his friends, and…may he be reunited with them…in this life, or the next…" The Pedestrian's voice cracked, and he had to look away. The stranger froze. Slowly, he reached up and pulled back his hood.

"Joe?" He asked, his voice suddenly solemn.

"Izzy?" The Pedestrian muttered, incredulous. Quickly, he threw back his own hood, revealing, a drawn, gaunt face, faint stubble on its chin and deep, dark marks beneath its eyes. Blue hair hung in matted locks, partially obscuring an eye. The stranger was human, younger and clean-shaven, wiry red hair recently trimmed. The two Digidestined stared at each other for quite some time.

They called him Spencer. It was considered pretentious for a Digimon to take a human name, but his species had never been known for their humility. For Spencer the Gazimon, life was good. He was doing well, moving up, Datamon had even gone so far as to call him his protégé. Currently, his superior was working silently, entirely absorbed in his task. Spencer was used to that, though, Datamon often ignored his subordinates. He waited patiently until the Tech director was finished, standing at attention. At last, Datamon turned, looking past him, clearly distracted. 

"Yes, what is it?" He demanded curtly.

"Sir, Demidevimon is waiting in the antechamber. Says it's urgent, news straight from the king himself." Spencer related, saluting as he did so. Datamon's face contorted with alarm, and he hovered past the Gazimon, brushing imaginary dust off of himself.

"Why didn't you speak up sooner?" He accused, already speeding towards the door. Not bothering to answer, Spencer excused himself through a side door.

Demidevimon flapped about impatiently, a grim expression set on his face. As soon as Datamon entered, looking slightly vexed himself, he began to speak, rapidly and without pausing for breath.

"Listen, and listen real good, 'cause I don't want to have to repeat myself, see? The boss says he won't be around much longer, just age, that's all. We're all feeling our years, been around a while, you and I and him…right? So, the boss says if he were to croak, then we should choose a successor…a Gazimon, more than likely, as a kind of…what's the word, there…regent, until the boss gets reborn. Boss doesn't know about you, of course, fortunately, so he tells me to do it for him. Says he can trust me. Well, the boss doesn't know about you, and neither do a lot of people…they won't support you, see, if you want to take the boss's place. So…here's what we got to do, see? You and me, knock off all the heirs, somehow, before the boss bites it. Then, it's only you…" Datamon held up a claw for silence, halting the emissary's babbling. He turned away, musing aloud.

"So, the simian's use is at and end. I knew this day would come, and I have planned, yes…you misjudge me. I would not want to lead, myself. I have groomed another for the position…"

"Spencer?" Demidevimon erupted. "C'mon, the guy's a pushover! Some monarch he'd be!"

"Precisely, which makes him perfect for the post. He will obey _me_."

Well, so much for that plan. There might yet be a way to turn Spencer and Datamon against each other, but he would have to plan carefully.

"Not to trivialize the matter, but…I remember it all like it was yesterday." The Pedestrian, Jyou 'Joe' Kido and the stranger, Koushiro 'Izzy' Izumi walked at a leisurely pace through New Cairo, hoods up once again. They spoke in hushed tones, glancing away from one and other. Tentomon hovered at a distance, glancing about for Gazimon officers. Right, yesterday. The screams, the last words, the speeches, and that gleam in Datamon's eye…it would always seem like yesterday, a person didn't forget a thing like that. 

"Yeah." Joe agreed despondently. "You said…oh God, I'm sorry…I should have been there…"

"Snap out of it. It was a coincidence, and a lucky one at that. If you'd been there instead off procuring firewood, they might have gotten you too…"

"No, you don't see…Datamon caught me first. He…it was an ambush, Gazimon; they knocked us out before Gomamon could digivolve. I ran, after that, I couldn't go back…I still don't know how I managed to escape, but Gomamon…I left him. I mean, I had no choice, but I left him. And then there was no use going back, because I couldn't fight. By the time I finally returned…"

"I see. And when you came back, they'd found us already."

"So I ran again. The story got to me later, in bits and pieces. Somehow, I managed to survive…"

"So I take it you don't know the whole story?"

"I…no, and I'm not sure I want too, but I guess I don't have a choice…you said that Matt and Mimi…"

"It was…a suicide pact. After Datamon attacked the camp, the three of us managed to break free of the guards. We ran for the hills, that big flat one to the north of the capitol. Matt knew that if we were caught, Datamon could clone us and control our Digimon."

"But…how'd he know, then?"

"Birdramon was one of the Digimon who attacked the campsite. Sora was there, or to be more exact, her clone. Datamon explained it as he coordinated the assault-he said it was the power of the crest and digivice, not the Digidestined, which controlled the Digimon. Sora was walking proof. Matt realized the same thing could happen to any of us, and decided it would be better to take his own life, rather than risk becoming a weapon for Datamon. I argued, told him it was madness, pleaded with him, but he wouldn't listen. Matt…he always was like that. Stubborn, and inscrutable. He bullied Mimi into it, and Palmon…" Izzy spoke with eerie calm, as if reciting a passage from a history book. At last, his voice held a twinge of emotion, which he tried to suppress. "I tried to stop them. I swear. It…I couldn't watch, but I had too. Someone had to see, to remember-Matt ordered Garurumon to shoot Mimi, and Togemon to shoot him…then each other. The Digimon reverted to dust immediately, but Matt…he just lay there, impaled on this needle, for at least an hour, and Mimi reduced to charcoal…except her face. I waited, of course…what could I do? Waited until the end, and they just melted away, like the Digimon…I'm sorry…" He broke off. They walked in silence for quite some time. At last, Izzy spoke once more. "Datamon seemed to find it quite amusing. He renamed the hill New Massada in honor of them. T.K, of course, was short by Demidevimon…the dart hit him right in the chest…"

"I know that. I know. I guess Matt had to watch that. Maybe that's what…you know…wait. I though Etemon and Datamon were enemies. How come Demidevimon participated in the attack?" 

"Who knows? He was always a shifty little bastard, I wouldn't be surprised to find his alliances in flux."

"Yeah, I guess…and Tai?"

"He was taken into the pyramid. That's the last anyone saw of him." 


	2. Abandon Hope

1. Abandon Hope

Note: If you're not familiar with the caste system, it's essentially a social order-the highest caste is treated with the utmost respect, and is typically wealthy, holding most of the political power. They are usually priests or warriors, whatever the society values most. The lower castes are largely ignored, or even abused, and the lowest caste is often forbidden from even interacting with other castes. 

Izzy's fourth floor apartment was cramped and poorly maintained, a model typically reserved for the Laborer caste, the Numemon and Pagumon. It was clearly a temporary residence, the only furniture of note being a battered wooden desk (on which rested a familiar pineapple laptop) and a few folding chairs. Sitting in one of these, brooding, Joe held a cigarette between forefinger and thumb. Apparently, Izzy had picked up the habit during the past ten years, bought the packs off Gazimon, claimed it helped him think. Besides, he reasoned, Digital entities didn't have lungs or other organs, so no permanent damage could result. Then again, he didn't think Digimon could age, either, until he had seen Etemon at his last concert. He looked terrible, a tired, flabby wreck of a Digimon, and, during his rendition of My Way, he had forgotten the words-a song he had sung hundreds, if not thousands of times.

"Gennai?" Joe intoned, staring at the floor. All day, he listed names, Leomon, Centauromon, Piximon, and gotten the same response. Dead, vanished, imprisoned. He looked up, Izzy stood by the window, hands clasped behind his back. He still wore those ridiculous gloves, though he had long since outgrown the rest of his trademark outfit, and wore a simple burlap tunic. Of all Datamon's societal reforms, clothing had been the most alien, and the most difficult to implement. Eventually, as always, the populace had gotten used to it.

"Enough." Izzy announced. "Let's not talk about the past. It doesn't really matter, anymore. What's done is done."

"Then…what about the future?" Joe stood, discarding the unlit cigarette. "Why did you come back? We're hunted men, Demidevimon gave up searching, but there's still the bounty…"

"Isn't it obvious?" Izzy began to pace, in neat, concentric circles, that stoic, almost comically determined look on his face, the one the Digidestined had often worn into battle. 

"God, you don't mean…have you gone completely insane!? Etemon…Etemon is the undisputed sovereign of Server, and File Island as well! He'll crush you like a bug!" Joe erupted, palms open and arms outstretched. Tentomon eyed him askance, but was silent.

"Look, Joe, I just need some closure. Just need to feel like I did something for them, for T.K, and the rest. Didn't just forget them. Call it vengeance. Call it retribution. Call it whatever the hell you want." Izzy shrugged, kneeling to retrieve the cigarette Joe had tossed aside. Fingers shaking, he lit it. Scowling disgustedly, Joe walked to the door.

"This is lunacy. There's no way you can make a dent on Etemon's empire, not by yourself. It's hopeless…"

"Then why are you here?" Izzy accused. Joe stopped dead, speechless. He began to stammer incoherently, as Izzy watched with a triumphant smirk.

"I…I…what I mean, is…I'm not sure." He finished, looking deflated. "It's been too long. I don't why I do anything, anymore." He sank into his chair. "Listen, I know…Etemon's days are numbered. Soon, he'll be Digi-dust, and that'll be that. His empire won't survive his death."

"Exactly." Izzy concurred, exhaling a spout of toxic smoke. "He was never the true villain, and it was never my intention to overthrow him."

Joe sighed with relief at that, but still seemed pensive. "Then what…?"

"Like I said, I had to do _something_. Something symbolic, maybe, something beautiful and tragic…"

"This whole world is tragic, everything about it. Why make it worse?"

Izzy went on, as though he hadn't heard. "Demidevimon wears the crest of hope like a medal about his shoulders. Snatched it from T.K's throat, before the corpse had stiffened. In the old days, he used to parade around town, flashing the damn thing for the whole world to see, like it was something to be proud of. Like he was a goddamned hero for killing this little kid. Now days, he hardly ever leaves the palace, none of them do." He gazed out the window once more, his hand on the sill. In the distance, like some impossible mirage, stood Etemon's inverted pyramid. "I'm going to walk up to him, _shoot_ him, right in the face, and pry the crest from his cold, dead…I've gotta stop. Scaring myself." He turned back, a pained smile on his features.

"Gomamon." Joe announced, suddenly, surprising even himself. "And Sora."

"Eh?"

"Sora. They told me she was still alive…don't know if I believe them, the Pagumon, but if there's a chance…"

"Then you're in." Izzy held out his hand to shake, clumsily, as though unfamiliar with the gesture.

"W-Wait! I didn't say anything about…but, what I meant was…I…but I…" His head sunk, he sighed. "I'm in." They shook, and Tentomon buzzed up, clutching something in his forearms. Izzy took the object, which gleamed in the light of the window.

"When I said I'd shoot him, I meant it. The technocracy, the highest caste, is mostly Gazimon. They posses genius intelligence, but are rather weak, and so they designed these sidearms to give them a combative edge." It was a pistol of some sort, futuristic but bulky, with a rectangular barrel. "It fires a brief burst of concentrated, raw data-enough to disrupt or even destroy a smaller target. It wouldn't faze something as large as a Monochromon, but they have other weapons for that. You have to admire their ingenuity."

The only really inconvenient thing about humans, he reflected, was that they grew. Digimon never grew, only Digivolved. From there, they shrunk. The girl, however, was growing at an alarming rate, and unpredictably. This annoyed Datamon to no end, he disliked the unpredictable, preferred the sterile, the formulaic. There was nothing in life that could not be reduced to an equation, or expressed as a formula. He grimaced, looking over the recent data, and occasionally glancing up at the girl. Soon, he would have gathered all the necessary information. Her use would be at an end. As he turned to go, the compound doors hissed open. Through the steam their operation released, he could make out a wiry, bipedal figure, a Gazimon, one shattered ear hanging limply at his side. Spencer. That Digimon was an oddity among his race, a simple, trusting creature with an honest face. Intelligent; though naïve. In other words, ideal for his purposes.

"Report." He demanded absently, careful never to look straight at an inferior Digimon. Datamon was without caste; he transcended the system.

"Lord Etemon is very sick. Heart failure, we believe, from over-consumption of cholesterol-enriched substances, though he will not submit to a physical. Rather, he continues to eat. If I may be allowed my opinion, we never should have introduced him to bacon." While he spoke, Spencer made an effort to peer around Datamon's cylindrical form. The Director had interposed himself between Spencer and a massive specimen tube, which sensors indicated was currently occupied.Upon hearing his news, Datamon clicked in an agitated fashion and motored off into the recesses of the lab, leaving Spencer momentarily unattended.

"Do not _touch _anything, I will be back momentarily." He called in parting. Spencer knew better than to ignore that command, but Datamon hadn't said anything about _looking_. And so look he did. And he saw her.

She was human, that much was clear. The Crest Wars had come before his time, and he had never seen one of that species outside of a textbook, but nonetheless recognized her immediately. She resembled the master's first clone, the original, perhaps? She had a kind of fragile beauty about her, a butterfly crushed between two panes of glass, an iridescent beetle preserved in formaldehyde. Her coarse, brown hair still curled slightly at the edges, and her eyes (a faint brown, almost red) shone dull, lifeless. She wore a creased surgical gown, common to test subjects. She…it was a she, wasn't it? She looked right at him, through him, unseeing for a moment. And smiled. And suddenly, he felt…he searched for a word. There was no term in his extensive vocabulary to describe the emotion, it was something so totally alien in Datamon's sterile realm that at first he refused to acknowledge it. Still, the word forced its way into his consciousness, insistent, until he spoke it aloud. Love. He felt love. No, he was _in _love, that was the term. His peers would mock him, he knew, but there was no need for them to know, no need for anyone to know, save himself. He almost smiled. And then, all at once, Datamon returned in a cyclone of activity, and the moment was shattered. 

"…Data, I must have data! How can I be expected to operate without information?" He was saying. As always, his voice was calm, calculating, even when he seemed so incensed. "Oh, are you still here? Off with you, I have much work to do." He snapped, turning to Spencer. And the Gazimon ran, as fast as his sinewy legs would carry him, that fleeting smile playing over and over in mind.

They left in the early morning, before the scorching sun had risen, and the streets were choked with commerce. New Cairo was a stark, futuristic metropolis, characterized by vast open spaces and efficient architecture. Now, the sun was behind the pyramid, placing them quite literally in Etemon's shadow. Izzy had refuted Joe's suggestion of a taxi, preferring to walk. His destination was only a few blocks away, a subterranean shop, one of the hundreds that lined the main street, staircases sloping down to dimly lit foyers.

"Hope's Arrow." Joe read off a sign, on which the words had been inscribed in ivory paint. "What do they sell?"

"Hope." Izzy answered, as though it should have been obvious. "It's a shrine." He amended, when Joe still looked quizzical. 

"Datamon took up religion, I take it? Not surprised."

"No, no not that at all…it's a…personality shrine." The door swung open, and Joe was confronted with the same pair of wide, innocent blue eyes staring from every surface.

"T.K…" He whispered, as the door slammed forcefully behind him. Opposite him, surrounded by candles and braziers of incense, was a life-size, hand-painted portrait of the boy, waving and grinning ecstatically. "Why have you brought me here?" He demanded, staring resolutely at the floor.

"We need to plan." Izzy explained. "You've been away some time, you need to be familiarized with the situation, and immediately. This seemed as good a place as any. Besides…I thought you might like to see this. It's kind of heartening, I guess, to know that they still care. They're all over the city, you know-we've each got a few shrines, though Matt has the most. You're a close second, and I have two or three which I'm rather proud of…" He trailed off, seeing Joe's expression. The eldest Digidestined stood on the threshold, paralyzed with the effort of maintaining his veneer. It pained him, that much was clear, but he felt it necessary. It wasn't healthy to run from your fears. He told himself that, over and over. "Look, if it really bothers you…" Izzy offered, making as if to exit.

"No!" Joe shouted, his voice harsh. There was a long, tense silence. At last, he spoke. "The situation."

"Right, the situation." They both gazed at T.K's portrait for a moment, then Izzy began. "Etemon has ruled, as you said, undisputedly. Probably because his only enemies find it more convenient to manipulate him. His official title is Lord Etemon, Sovereign Ruler of File and Server, but everyone just calls him The King. Demidevimon has come up in the world-after the Crest War, Etemon promoted him to Official Royal Emissary. He has no tangible power, though he holds sway with the king, which makes him a force to be reckoned with. The other real power is Datamon. No one will acknowledge his existence, especially in Etemon's presence, but the technocracy reports to him. It's hard to say what his ultimate aim is, but for now, he's content to pull the strings at the palace. The Gazimon call him The Director. Then…there's the S.S., or Social Services. Gazimon, mostly, technocracy rejects. They're the police force and intelligence division, patrolling the streets and maintaining the dark network. They're not as much of a threat as the technocracy, they mostly wield nightsticks. Remember Kokatorimon, the cruise ship captain? Well, he's been appointed honorary director of the S.S, and the Director of Urban Development. Datamon may have designed this city, but it was Kokatorimon who built it, or more accurately, supervised the building. I doubt he could even lift a brick himself. You thought Etemon had put on some weight? Kokatorimon's a perfect glutton, so obese he can hardly walk, let alone fight…not that he needs to with his Petrifyer attack. Still, the real enemy is the dark network. We can't approach the palace without being detected; in fact, the city is the only place in entire digital world that isn't wired. However, the sensors range only extends so far, vertically, and it only collects data in pulses, every fifteen minutes or so. Last week, I was able to knock out an auxiliary power plant with Tentomon here." He indicated his Digimon partner, who seemed to blush.

"If we can punch a hole in Datamon's sensor net, we can tunnel under the palace, into the tombs. From there, we can make our way into Etemon's sanctum." Tentomon explained, sketching a rough map into the dirt.

"There's another threat." Joe intoned, gazing at the diagram. "Something you forgot."

"What?" Izzy glanced up, startled.

"You said that Datamon was successful in cloning Sora. That he controlled Birdramon. That means…Gomamon…"

"Joe, I…listen, I'm sorry…but Birdramon and Ikkakumon are Etemon's personal guards. We shouldn't encounter them if…"

"But we have to save them. Gomamon. And Sora…if we find her, she'll want Biyomon back…"

"You're right." Izzy admitted with a sigh. "Damn, this is becoming more complicated by the second…but you're right, we can't leave them there. Not if there's a chance. We break in, kill Demidevimon, retrieve the crest of hope, rescue Sora…and Gomamon…and Biyomon…this is hopeless." 

"Then I guess we're in the right place." Joe remarked. Slowly, walking on hallowed ground, he crossed to the portrait. It was worn and faded from the million hands pressed against it, but T.K's face still shone radiant through the grime. There was a slight smudge where some enterprising Digimon had planted a kiss on his acrylic cheek.

Author's Note: I saw a documentary on the last days of Elvis. It was really depressing, and I don't think I'll ever think of him (or Etemon) in the same way. The other main inspiration for this work was The Man In The High Castle by Philip K. Dick, a post-World War II scenario in which the axis won, though there aren't really many parallels between the book and this story, aside from the basic premise.


	3. Old Soldiers

2. Old Soldiers

"You, what are you gawking at?" Datamon demanded, passing him for the third time.

"Nothing, eh…just my reflection in the glass, that's all." Spencer ran a claw self-consciously through his mane, as he had often seen his colleagues do.

"Well, serve your petty vanity elsewhere. This is a sterile scientific environment, and I can not risk contamination." Spencer turned with a sigh. He had been watching the girl for at least an hour, from the doorway, tensing every time the Director came into view. At last, he had noticed him, and he was forced to go. He couldn't go on like this, clearly, his attention divided between the girl and his career. So which would it be? Eventually (and soon, judging from his recent comments), Datamon would dispose of the girl, thus solving his dilemma. At this thought, some part of his mind rebelled, and an impossible notion began to form. If you love something, set it free, the Angemon on his shoulder chided. If it comes back, it will be yours forever. If it does not, it was never yours to begin with. That was all very pretty, yes, but what if she didn't come back after all? She was a prisoner, that much he had deduced, and a different species besides. What could she possibly see in him, that she would want to come back? And why lose his own life over it?

Demidevimon was sick to the very pit of his stomach. He could deal with voracious Gizamon without flinching, haggle with Digitamamon and win, and of course, appease Etemon, but this individual never failed to repulse him. For one thing, Kokatorimon spat when he spoke, his saliva stinking of raw carcass and fresh blood. Bits of bone and sinew clung to his feathers, and the tip of his beak was died an irreversible red.

"Scawww! Well, if it isn't the Etemon's little rat, back down from his high castle. 'Smatter, D.D, sick of palace life? Deciding to come and mingle with the common folk?" Kokatorimon laughed, a hoarse, squawking noise, and his whole frame trembled. He thrust his stinking maw within an inch of Demidevimon, his rancid breath clinging to the emissary's feathers.

"Just thought I'd drop by to see an old friend, captain." Demidevimon forced out, reluctant to even open his mouth. "How's life treating you?"

"Well enough, well enough. All the food I could ask for…well, not actually. Truth tell, I've been looking for something I can really sink my teeth into, you know? Prepared food's no fun. Where's the sport?" He eyed Demidevimon, tongue sliding hungrily over his beak.

"Just ask, and it'll be yours. In fact…" He adopted a conspiratorial air, hovering closer, though he could hardly stand it. The stench was almost too much to bear. "…That's what I come about, see? We all know Etemon hasn't been himself recently, and he's talking about regents and such…in fact, he even went so far as to appoint me his honorary successor-sh, keep it down-this'll be our little secret. Now, there are those who might object to that decision, and I need to know, when push comes to shove, that I can count on your support."

"And I suppose you'll promise me rewards, or promotions, what have you…hrrrm…" Kokatorimon pretended to consider, stroking his fifth chin with a wilting feather, a greedy glint in his eyes. "Since you approached me first, I suppose I could consider it…though if I were to get a better offer…"

"Of course, 'course, all about what's best for you. Though I can guarantee you won't. Side with the winners, Kokatorimon. Side with the winners and…eh, I can't think of an analogy." Demidevimon retreated, wearing a calculated, tired smile. "We're both old soldiers, captain. We were there at the beginning, you and I. Us old timers gotta stick together." He called in parting. 

Izzy, despite having professed otherwise, was still obsessed with the past. Joe realized this, gazing out the lattice-trimmed window of the carriage at the flat-topped hill in the distance. There's one more thing I think you should see, he had said. That was all it was to him, familiarizing Joe with the situation. All in the name of the future. Still, Joe could see the true reason he wanted to show him all of this. He was still coming to terms with it himself.

"This is it." The younger man announced, stepping down from the carriage and paying the Gekomon driver. "New Massada." He had deemed it wiser to take a caravan this time, considered it less conspicuous. The dark network would take no note of a Monochromon caravan traveling along established routes, but not so for two human-sized figures on foot (Tentomon having remained at the apartment). He raised his eyes to the horizon, where dunes and mesas gave way to the massive hill Joe had observed from the window. "Wait for us? Won't be more than an hour." He called up to the driver, who shrugged. An agreement was reached, and the two Digidestined struck out across the desert, the hill shimmering like a mirage in the distance.

"You're sure you want to go through with this?" Joe asked, before they had gone three paces.

"Absolutley. It's of paramount importance that you know the past, so that we can put it behind us." It sounded weak, he knew, but it was his best excuse. "There's a cave, about a thirty meters up the cliff face…that's where…" Where a great man was reduced to madness. Where a sincere friend was stricken down in her prime. Where he murdered her, and she him. Where…where…

_"That's not friendship."_

_"The hell do you know about friendship?"_

_"You know, because you have the crest, doesn't mean you don't have a lot to learn…a true friend wouldn't abandon us. A true friend would help us fight…even if he didn't want too."_

_"True friend…a true friend would stop his friends if they were going to do something stupid. And I'm not going to fight Etemon if I'll end up like Sora."_

_"Tai might still be alive, and Sora…we have to help them…"_

_"_Help_ them? Would it be helpful if Datamon cloned me and sent my Digimon after the rest of you? Do you want to kill your friends? Do you, Mimi? And T.K can't be helped. We can't do anything for him." _

_"We can _live_. He would have wanted that…"_

_"That's what they all say, damnit…he would have wanted that…how do you know what T.K would have wanted? You can't know how it feels, Mimi. Either of us. Just shut up, shut-…"_

_"You don't mean that, Matt. You're not yourself…just…calm down…"_

_ _

"…Where it all happened." Izzy finished, gesturing toward the slope ahead. "I guess we should get going."

"Right." Joe agreed, and they set off. At their backs, Etemon's pyramid was silhouetted by the setting sun, New Cairo gleaming beneath it. To either side, the desert stretched out indefinitely, leading eventually to mountains and forest. Underfoot, the ebony coils of the dark network lurked like a nest of vipers, barely concealed by the shifting sands. Joe trod on a cable, and instantly sprang back, as though it had bit him. Nearby, an auxiliary power generator stood, bearing Etemon's grinning façade. The King Is Watching You, the caption beneath reminded them.

"And this is it. Not much, really…I wish I could have done more. They deserved more." The cavern was shallow, extending no more than a few meters into the hill. The floor was perfectly flat, strewn lightly with sand.On the far wall, a sheer rock face, words had been etched with a fragment of some denser mineral.

**Here, at some undetermined date, perished**

** **

**Yamato 'Matt' Ishida, 12, bearer of the crest of friendship and accomplished harmonica player**

** **

**Gabumon, his Digimon**

** **

**Mimi Tachikawa, 10, bearer of the crest of sincerity and**

** **

**Palmon, her Digimon**

** **

**Who, in a heroic gesture, took their own lives rather than submit to Datamon's control**

"I couldn't think of anything to describe Mimi." Izzy admitted. "I mean, I couldn't very well write 'very nice person', could I? That's not the kind of thing that goes on a grave marker…" He looked away. A dry breeze blew through the cave, stirring the sand. Reverently, Joe knelt, casting about for something in the sediment. Presently, he stood, wielding a chunk of obsidian. 

**…bearer of the crest of sincerity _and a very nice person_**

He carved, concluding the statement. His faint, sprawling script looked striking next to Izzy's precise, cramped lettering.

"There." He concluded, dusting off his hands and stepping back to admire his handiwork. "I don't see why not." He added, as Izzy frowned.

"I suppose. It's all in the past, I mean, and I…I…well…"

"Just say it, Izzy, you miss them, we all do. It isn't the same, and we shouldn't pretend like it is." Joe tossed away the obsidian and turned his back on the inscription. Izzy was silent, eyes downcast. 

He was getting too old for this. No, correction, he had been too old for some time. Still, it wasn't as though he could resign and call in a pension. Now, more than ever, when the darkness was so close to victory…if the light were to extinguish of it's own accord, then…then what? He had never stopped to consider it before. What if Etemon _did _conquer the world, or his successor? What then? And, furthermore, so what? No, no, that was senility talking. If Etemon were to set foot here, in this last bastion of light, all would be lost. One way or another. Slowly, leaning on his cane for support, Gennai stood. Etemon, like himself, was close to death. It would not be long before there would be a new foe, a new champion of darkness. That was all it was, darkness and light, good and evil, nothing more. He must remember this. Inching across the chamber, each deliberate step punctuated by a rap of his cane, he headed for his computer. He must bring up the files. A war could not be waged without information. 

"Analysis of all unique virus-type Digimon in New Cairo. Read it aloud." He spoke into the voice control module, the simple sentences a strain on his atrophied vocal chords. The computer whirred for a moment, then began to recite the requested data in a feminine monotone.

"Kokatorimon, Ultimate Digimon. Director of Social Services. Lacks initiative. Not ambitious. Pawn. Demidevimon, Rookie Digimon. Royal Emissary. Likely to be Etemon's official successor. Shrewd. Great personal ambition, though no ultimate goal. Low threat. Digitamamon, Ultimate Digimon. Restaurateur. Profiteer. Uninterested in political affairs. Pawn. Datamon, Ultimate Digimon…" The program paused, whirring frantically, unable to formulate a response.

The hallway blurred before him. His wings ached. His parched throat demanded fluid. All day, calling in favors, meeting with contacts, studying Etemon's legal texts, preparing for that moment, that paramount moment when his own fate and that of the Digital world would hinge on his preparation. Demidevimon winced as he passed the throne room, expecting at any moment to hear one of Etemon's insistent demands. Only silence. Wait, no-it was there, a faint, lilting refrain, so faint that he might have dismissed it as the work of his tired mind. He paused a moment, alighting outside the open doors, listening. He realized, incredulously, that Etemon was singing-not from his usual, raucous arsenal, but something softer, haunting. After a moment of deliberation, Demidevimon fluttered in.

"Oh, do not forsake me, mine indolent friends…oh, do not forsake me though you know I must spend…" It was Etemon; there was no doubt about it. And yet, it couldn't be him…there was none of his familiar sentiment in the words, there was a genuine quality too it which was virtually unknown within the walls of the palace. "…All my darkest hours, talking like this…for I am one thousand years old…" Drawn by the music, Demidevimon drifted toward the throne, which now faced toward him, away from the monitors and screens, the blinding flow of information. Etemon sang without stage or microphone, crooning the words to an inanimate audience. "One thousand years old…sure, you think that's old…one thousand years old…but what do you know? In my darkest hour, I'm talking like this…for I am one thousand years old…" Making up the words as he went, he sang louder, his voice rising to the high-vaulted ceiling and echoing through the corridors without. Demidevimon perched beside him, entranced. "Oh, some have forgotten the flower of speech…and walk through the garden, where I go to defend…misbegotten notions…while talking like this…for I am one thousand years old…" Acting on some strange impulse, Demidevimon took to the air, joining him in the final refrain.

"One thousand years old…sure, I'd say that's old…one thousand years old…but what do I know? In your darkest hour, mine indolent friends…we'll be one thousand years old." The following silence was deafening, the kind where one would speak merely for the sake of breaking it.

"Do you ever feel like that, D.D? One thousand years old?" Etemon intoned, weakly, as if though he had exhausted the last of his mortal energy with his song. "It won't be long now…for either of us…"

"Ya know, they say…they say old soldiers never die. Only fade away." Demidevimon mused, voice softening philosophically.

"That so? Who says that?"

"Dunno…some human."

"Right…good times…old soldiers…fade away…away…away…" The words echoed in the massive hall. Demidevimon glanced away, blinking frantically. His eyes stung, for some reason. Must be fatigue. When he looked back, the air was thick with orange dust. Etemon was coming apart, tearing at the seams.

"Boss? Boss!" He shouted frantically, batting at the dust with his wings, trying, perhaps, to force it back into some semblance of its prior form. There was nothing to be done. Within seconds, Etemon was no longer recognizable, a lump of unformed data trickling quickly into the aether.

The apartment was dark. The shades were drawn, the city lights casting a faint pool of light beneath them. Joe couldn't sleep, of course, and had not expected too. Lying on the floor, gazing at the whorls and eddies in the ceiling plaster, he reflected on his situation. And climbed to his feet. "Izzy?" He called, stabbing a few fingers into his matted hair. No answer. He stumbled out of the room, almost tripping over a sleeping Tentomon in the doorway. A hunched, humanoid form sat nearby, his back to the door, cradling a pistol in his arms.

"Yeah?" Izzy answered, at length.

"I've been thinking…" Silence. Well, no one's stopping you; Izzy seemed to say. "Datamon was able to control our Digimon with mindless copies and the power of the crests. That means…we're not really necessary. It could have been any eight kids. Right?" Joe began in a thick monotone. Refusing to answer, Izzy turned away, the glow of the window catching his face. There was a faint gleam there. "And…look. Etemon's won. Are we any worse off? Are all Digimon downtrodden and oppressed? Is the sky burning? Is the ocean boiling? Have both our worlds been consumed?" His voice rose in pitch, almost accusing. "We were torn from our own world to fight a war we wanted no part of, and for what?" Just then, he caught himself, his rage dissipating in an instant. He looked ashamed.

"There's a reason. There has to be." Izzy insisted. "I must believe this."

"Right. Listen, sorry, I…it's late." 

"Yeah. Late." And then, from outside, there came a metallic clang. Izzy sprang to his feet, gun drawn. The sound was repeated, closer, and again. He crossed to the window, flinging back the curtain just in time to see Demidevimon flutter past, a bell clutched in his talons. Beneath, on the dirt path, technocratic Gazimon marched in file, service weapons at their shoulders, uniformed in black. Behind them came a contingent of S.S in their orange vests, wielding nightsticks. In addition to the clamor, there was some intangible quality to the procession, somehow indicating its gravity. Demidevimon was speaking.

"Hea yea, hea yea…the king is dead, the kind is dead. Long live the king. The king is dead, the kind is dead…" And so on, repeating, until it faded into the distance. Long afterward, the heavy tread of the Gazimon's spiked boots was still audible.

Author's Note: The song Etemon sings is 'O, Do Not Forsake Me' by _They Might Be Giants_.

-…" Even as he spoke, there was a burst of frantic footfalls from the corridor without, and the door swung off its hinges, admitting a breathless guard. Rothstein recognized him as the one who called himself Kurtz. 

"Sir! It's the Director! He's not in his cell!" The panicked Gazimon related. A moment later, two others guards filed into the room, nightsticks shouldered. Speak of the devil and he shall appear, Rothstein reflected.

"Damn…we'll have to evacuate the facility. Sound the alarm. Initiate…ye Gods, here he is!" He sprang to his feet, overturning the chair, drawing his service weapon. The mosaic wall ahead of his was gradually dematerializing, being reduced to its component data, fading into one color until it disappeared entirely. In its place hovered an incensed Datamon.

"I cannot be caged!" He bellowed, charging the Gazimon, smashing one into the floor. The guard gave a short, strangled gasp and splintered into dust.

"I cannot be controlled!" He aimed a claw at Wallace, sending a jagged spark directly into his chest. The taskmaster was vaporized on the spot.

"Understand this as you die, ever pathetic, ever fools!" Another spark missed Kurtz, and Rothstein backed toward the door, nightstick raised in futile defense. 

"We may fall, but our numbers are many!" He stammered, voice high and shrill. "You will be overwhelmed!" Datamon looked momentarily perplexed, emitting a frantic whirring noise, much like a computer processing data.

"You are nothing before my might." He announced at last, triumph in his tone. "Engage digivolution subroutine…formatting…" Rothstein bolted, but Kurtz was not as quick. He looked on, mesmerized, as Datamon was consumed by a blinding light, pushing rapidly out in all directions. "Datamon _warp_-digivolve too…"

"Are you accusing me of callousness?" Joe's eyes flared, his brow twitched.

"No, my friend, I'm accusing you of cynicism. Have you forgotten what it means to be Digidestined?" Izzy was calm, biting his lip.

"And what does it mean, then? Answer me that! What did it ever mean? We might as well never have been, for all the good we've done." They glared at each other, across Sora, both wanting more than anything to step down, but it was too late.

"Say, did you just hear something?" Sora remarked, raising a hand for silence. If they hadn't before, they did presently. It was a dull roar, a sound any Digidestined could identify as the sound of raw data dissipating into the air. The sound of mass destruction.

"They've started the blasting." Joe guessed. "They're demolishing the place." Then, the next instant, a blaring alarm, sounding something like a dirge played on the bagpipes, tore through the corridors. A moment later, it was accompanied by a chorus of not-so distant screams. Sora winced at the cacophony, drawing in on herself. 

"Too arms! Too arms!" Kokatorimon's harsh squawk sounded from nearby, coming over some sort of public address system. "Containment breech in sector B-12! Too arms!" Sora climbed painstakingly too her feet.

"We're going in." She stated decisively, in a tone that did not allow further comment. Joe looked about to protest, but Izzy cut him off. 

"No arguments. We're going in, we're fixing it, saving Gomamon and Biyomon and vanquishing Demidevimon. It's who we are. Tentomon?" 

"Tentomon, digivolve too…Kabuterimon!" The insectoid Digimon took to the air as Izzy clambered to his perch atop his head, helping Sora up behind him. "Are you coming?" He called down to Joe, almost contemptuously. Joe convulsed, torn. Then, faintly at first, then with almost wilting brilliance, his crest began to glow. Izzy tossed it too him, it landed at his feet. Haltingly, he bent, picked it up and hung it around his neck.

"I'm coming too."

Demidevimon spat at the monitor. No, this was all wrong, this couldn't be happening. On every screen, the same image, this phantasmagoric entity ripping through his troops, demolishing even his most powerful warriors. It wasn't supposed to be like this. Datamon was out of the way for good, it…it wasn't fair. Feebly, he collapsed onto his throne. _His_ throne, he should be elated, and yet somehow… 

"Kokatorimon, report." He demanded, gazing at the S.S commander's face on a nearby screen.

"This Enigmon is a mega Digimon." Kokatorimon wheezed, consulting his lieutenant's report. "The evolved form of Datamon. His Looks like the Director took what he knew of the digivolution process to create some kind of surrogate crest. Which proves his point…it was the crests, after all, and not the children…" And all at once, he looked tired, old even beyond his advanced years, pathetic. He held a wing to his forehead.

"See if you can lure it outside." Demidevimon snapped, running a few mental calculations. "Activate the dark network. It's our only chance."

"What's…going on, out there?" Biyomon struggled to raise her head, blinking frantically.


	4. Power Play

3. Power Play 

"Ladies, Gentlemen, I…eh, who the hell am I kidding? I aint cut out for this line of work. I'm no good at making speeches, none of us are. Etemon was one-of-a-kind, irreplaceable, and I don't pretend to continue his legacy. This, though, I can promise you…though Etemon's reign brought peace and prosperity to the Digital World, it brought other, darker things…a taint few recognized, and even fewer attempted to combat. I speak, of course, of Datamon…you heard me. Datamon. How dare he call himself one of us? Friends, this humanization programme of his has gone on too long. Are we men? Or are we Digimon? Over the next few years, I plan to do away with his ridiculous caste system and gradually dismantle the infrastructure he has put into place. As for the Director himself, I have ordered him arrested. His experimentation will be discontinued, and his laboratory sealed from the inside. His clones will be decommissioned, and his department disbanded. It may seem drastic, and it is with a heavy heart that I treat an old comrade thus, but this is not a time for lenience. Datamon had since betrayed us, and decisiveness is called for. Also, many Gazimon loyal to the Director will be disciplined for their role in his schemes. However, my reign will not herald only destruction and despair-I will reward my friends, who have stood by me these past years. To Kokatorimon, who played such a valiant role in apprehending the Director, I cede one tenth of my kingdom, to develop as he sees fit. To the Gazimon known as Spencer, who informed Kokatorimon as to the Director's whereabouts, a captainship in the Social Services force. To Digitamamon, my sincere gratitude for writing this speech-what, you think I could have done it myself?" A polite laugh from the crowd. In the back row of the concert hall, Digitamamon smirked. Despite his hoarse voice and gruff tone, Demidevimon was a skilled orator, and was delivering his speech famously. With any luck, the crowd would eat it up. If Demidevimon was pleased with Digitamamon's literary talents, he might even offer him a post at the palace. Perhaps even Datamon's position. The speech was perfect, if he did say so himself. All promises and ideals, no discussion of Demidevimon's true agenda, or the circumstances of his ascension. No mention, of course, of the dark network.

"That's rich, isn't it?" A cloaked Digimon beside him remarked, slightly louder than was necessary. "Shift all the blame to Datamon." His companion, likewise attired, elbowed him sharply in the ribs.

"Keep it down. Don't want to attract attention." He hissed. Digitamamon half-turned, watching the pair out of the corner of his eye. There was something familiar about them, a certain quality to the voices…of course, they had visited his bar a few days prior, who had toasted the Digidestined. And there was that Tentomon, seated a row in front. The pair began to converse in hushed tones, occasionally glancing up to make sure they were not observed. 

"We act now, or not at all." The shorter one whispered, gesturing ambiguously with his left hand.

"Couldn't we discuss this later?" His taller companion objected.

"All eyes are on Demidevimon. There's no better time. If we keep our voices down, there's no risk of being overheard. Now, listen…if what he says is true, and Datamon has been arrested, then his lab will be vacated. And if the clones have been decommissioned, then we should be able to rescue Gomamon and Biyomon…unless…"

"Unless, what?"

"Something just occurred to me. I'm sure Demidevimon wouldn't willingly relinquish the power of two champion Digimon, no matter what he says. That must mean he's unable to utilize that power, ergo, only Datamon is capable of controlling them, or his control is waning somehow."

"The implication being?"

"If Demidevimon can't control our Digimon, they're a liability to him. He'll dispose of them at the first chance."

"Terrific. Well, all the more reason to hurry, I guess…" At that moment, the crowd began to clap in response to some statement Demidevimon had made, and their words were drowned out. By the time the applause had faded, the two had finished speaking, gazing innocently in opposite directions. Digitamamon scowled. Where there was plotting, there was always profit, and where there was profit…he would not be denied it.

There was a sharp report from nearby, the rapping of knuckles on the wooden door. Izzy sat bolt upright, hand straying to the pistol. Years of fugitive life had conditioned his reflexes; anything remotely unusual was cause for alarm. The knock came again, more insistent. Professional, not social. "Who's there?" He demanded, deepening his voice several octaves.

"S.S. Open up." It was a Gazimon, voice rough and businesslike. Izzy's heart stopped, his breathing shallow, vision swimming. It was a nightmare, it had to be. At last, the statement he had been dreading for ten years.. Wordlessly, he tossed the pistol to Joe. A look of infinite understanding passed between them. Tentomon hovered to the door, lurking stealthily to one side. Without further delay, Izzy reached out and pulled it open.

The officer was green, a newcomer to the force. He had about him none of the technocracy's calculating coldness, or the typical lean, hungry look of an S.S officer. Some forgotten accident had shattered his left ear, leaving it swinging freely at his side.

"We need to talk." He announced, more personably. "Let me in." It was a request, not a demand, though there was force in it.

"And you would be…?" Izzy prompted, still unwilling to open the door more than a crack.

"Spencer."

"I recall…you were promoted for betraying Datamon, were you not?"

"_Betrayal_ is such an ugly word…but yes. I did what had to be done, and have no regrets. Can I enter?" Reluctantly, Izzy let the door swing, stepping back. Spencer shuffled in, taking in the scattered chairs, Joe with the pistol and Tentomon, tensed to attack. "No need for that." He noted. "If I wanted you dead, you would be so already. I know who you are. I say the word, and the entire S.S descends on this apartment. So you listen." He seated himself, brooding. "Got a cigarette?" Izzy produced one, and another for himself. Not bothering to light the rod, Spencer chewed on it reflectively, collecting himself.

"We're listening." Tentomon buzzed, circling the Gazimon.

"Good. First off, it's true. The moment Demidevimon took power, he had Datamon arrested…"

"What in the name of the compound pantheon is this all about?" Datamon demanded, as the S.S agents filed into his laboratory.

_"Lord Demidevimon's command." The patrol leader explained, almost apologetically. _

_"Am I to understand lord Etemon had passed? And that I was unaware of this? And that his imbecilic flunky is now Emperor of File and Server?"_

_"'Fraid so, Herr Director. He's acting on one of Etemon's decrees. And I quote, 'If that no-good, lousy, thieving bastard Datamon ever shows his face in my kingdom again, I want him thrown in chains and sealed in a lead box until the end of time, or longer!' That's how it is." He shrugged dismissively, gesturing to his team. "Fan out, boys. Seal the exits. We'll finish the job tomorrow."_

_"What is the meaning of this? Out, all of you…this is a sterile scientific environment, and I cannot risk…no, stay away from that!" He swatted a few Gazimon away from a menacing-looking bank of electronics. "I am conducting some very delicate experiments, here! They cannot…"_

"Sorry, Herr Director, you're coming with us, one way or another. Now, are you coming willingly, or do we employ force?" The patrol leader questioned, rapping his nightstick against one hand.

_"How _dare _you? You would threaten me, in my own sanctum? I will _crush_ you! Data-…" Before he could shout his attack, several nightsticks came down across his cranium, bashing him to the floor. In a single, fluid motion, the patrol leader removed a quarter-inch of black plastic from his vest, jamming it into Datamon's left eye. The Ultimate Digimon convulsed, and was still._

_ _

"…And no one's set foot in his sanctum since." Spencer finished. "Kokatorimon's lieutenant, Rothstein, was charged with apprehending him, and sealing off his lab. However, Rothstein is an infamous procrastinator, and will likely not begin the job for some time. We have to get in there."

"_We_? And what interest would you have in this venture, pray tell?" Izzy demanded, arms crossed.

"First off, it's dangerous to leave a laboratory untended for any period of time. I tried to convince Rothstein to investigate, but he reasoned that no one but Datamon could make any sense of the place. Chances are, he was developing some kind of explosive that'll blow the whole palace to hell if someone doesn't diffuse it. Someone had to make sure, tie up any loose ends, right? Also…" Izzy, Tentomon and Joe looked on expectantly, Spencer grimaced. "How long can a human survive without sustenance?" He asked suddenly.

"Three days without water, over a week without food." Izzy recited automatically. "Umm…why?" 

"Her." Spencer's mouth went dry. "Datamon…he kept live specimens, studied them, treated them like machines. One of them…was human, I think. We read about her at the academy…Sora Takenouchi." Izzy's eyebrows shot up; Joe's face was lit with hope. 

"How long do we have?" Izzy pressed, suddenly urgent.

"I remember feeding her on the day of Datamon's arrest. I had just made the call…to Rothstein, I mean. That means…that was two days ago, or so. We have twenty-four hours, less, if we don't want her to sustain permanent damage. It might be too late already."

"And just what would you want with her?" Joe queried, eyeing him suspiciously. Spencer the Gazimon sighed, knowing that he was betraying his life's doctrine, going against everything he had ever believed in.

"I used to worship Datamon, following him everywhere, imitating him exactly. I thought I was happy. I thought that was what I wanted to do with my life. But, now, I realize…I always hated him. Hated him, and everything he stood for…Datamon was, is, everything cruel and ugly in this world. He's…he's…evil. I didn't used to think evil existed, really, that it was just an abstract concept, a matter of perspective. But no matter what you believe…even Etemon had some redeeming qualities, difficult as it may be for _you_ to believe. Kokatorimon's only fault is gluttony. Demidevimon, at least, cares for himself. But Datamon…he doesn't believe in anything, cares for no one. He extinguishes life on a whim, toys with reality like some kind of a game…no, not a game. A game, at least, is played for amusement. Who knows why Datamon acts? He consumes, devours, dissects, working feverishly, and to what end? He's twisted, truly, utterly twisted, and I hate him. He's a monster…a word I never thought had any meaning, a word used by foes to apply to one and other…he's a real monster."

"We get the point." Tentomon broke in. "Datamon's evil. But now he is, as humans say, behind bars."

"It isn't enough." Spencer insisted. "They won't hold him for long. Once we've cleaned out his lab, we'll have to go after him. He has to be destroyed, once and for all. I don't care what, he has to be stopped."

"Then why have you come to us?" Izzy now spoke, pacing frantically.

"I've tried to find help among my own people. They won't listen. Even now, I suspect Datamon has allies among the technocracy. There are others like him, Gazimon, other monsters. And besides…I thought…you'd want her back. She showed me something, something genuine, _real_…something that, if I could show Datamon, it would blow his hard-wired little mind."

"And what do you expect us to do?"

"I can't get you into the palace, I don't have the authority, but I can show you the next quickest way. Datamon's sanctum in approximately three thousand feet below ground, but could easily be reached by tunneling from a specific location. You could dig into an elevator shaft and take it the rest of the way, assuming your Digimon can carry the both of you. I can show you where to dig, but I can't to anything about the dark network…I assume you can handle that yourselves. Once you're inside, you may have to take out a few doors, but that should be no trouble for a champion Digimon." Spencer guessed. Tentomon beamed proudly.

"And you're not afraid? You don't worry your role in this might be discovered?"

"What do I have to lose? I'm a dead 'mon already. Have been ever since I crossed Datamon."

And, surprisingly enough, it all went off without a hitch. Izzy's timing was impeccable, Tentomon, as Kabuterimon, swooped down and obliterated a section of the dark network between sensor readings. Immediately, he began to dig, tunneling several feet per second. He wasn't built for it, but within an hour or so, they were into the shaft, as Spencer had predicted. From there, it was only a few moments' flight to the base, where magnetically sealed double doors blocked the path to the laboratory. Kabuterimon de-volved to Tentomon, voided the lock, and they were in. As they walked down a whitewashed, clinical corridor, Izzy reflected with disbelief on how simple it had all been. The place was deserted, security was nonexistent. "Super shocker!" Another door slid open with a faint whine of protest. And there, in all its sterile, scientific glory, was Datamon's laboratory. It was a small, circular room, a few generic clumps of electronics here and there, a few distillation setups and vials of mysterious liquid organized meticulously on countertops and shelves.

"We're here. We're really here." Izzy muttered, stepping cautiously inside. There was nothing of note in the room, save a circular patch of wires near the center. He inspected it; it resembled the hologram projectors Gennai had used to contact them, so long ago. On the far wall was a sealed door, similar to the one they had entered through.

"Izzy, take a look at this!" Tentomon called, hovering by a shelving unit. The man rushed over, only to observe…books, stack upon stack of faded hardcover novels, human design, and furthermore, titles he recognized. 

"Well, he has all the classics here." Izzy remarked, rifling through the collection. "From Lord Jim to Lord of the Flies." Across the room, Joe was searching through a different sort of collection-records, ancient vinyl tablets, stacked beside an antique record player.

"The collected works of Elvis Presley." He read. "You don't suppose…"

"That Datamon was responsible for Etemon's creation? It's entirely possible. In fact…" Izzy took a seat, deep in thought. "Datamon couldn't lead. He didn't have the temperament. But he liked power…of course. He needed a pawn, a showy, loud, conceited pawn who would detract attention from his own activities…"

"A lock of Elvis's hair…wonder how he got a hold of that…" Joe had expanded his search to include nearby shelves, and had quickly amassed a sizeable stack of Elvis-related memorabilia.

"That hair…if he managed to acquire a genetic sample like that, then he could…"

"_Clone Elvis_?" They both exclaimed simultaneously. Shaking his head bemusedly, Izzy stood.

"This is just too bizarre. I say we get out of here. I…I just don't like this place, there's something not quite natural about it. Too clean, too ordered." They both turned toward the other door, which Tentomon speedily deactivated.

"I'll go in ahead." Joe offered.

"Sounds logical." Izzy said, taking one last look around the lab. 

The chamber ahead was completely dark, Joe stopped dead, refusing to go a step further into the unknown. Izzy's hand ran along the wall and, to his surprise, encountered a lightswitch. "Joe, there's a lightswitch on the wall. In about three seconds, I am going to activate said lightswitch and most likely illuminate this area. Now, given our location, what you see at that point may make you want to scream, flail or run from here as fast as your legs can carry you. Please refrain from doing so." And the next moment, two fluorescent bulbs on the ceiling flickered to life. The spectacle was, in fact, fairly horrifying and both were strongly inclined to scream. Perhaps three feet away, staring blankly back at them, was a familiar face. A boyish face, still flushed as though he had recently come from soccer practice, a massive swathe of chestnut hair sprouting from his scalp, a pair of goggles perched on his brow. A bead of sweat still hung on his forehead, his mouth was open in a partial smile. Still, his expression was vacant, no life in his eyes.

"Tai…" Joe rasped, reaching towards the boy. His fingers encountered a pane of glass.

"Has he been…stuffed?" Izzy gaped, horrified.

"No…look." Joe swept his hand across the room. To either side, in identical display cases, were similar replicas of T.K and himself as children. "You know what…I'll bet it's an extension of his cloning technology. This is only another duplicate. Look, there's a plague." He knelt, reading the small display card at Tai's feet. "Taichi Kamiya, _Homo Sapien. _Twelve years of age. Exemplary physical specimen. Note: This is not the actual cadaver of said specimen, only a digital replica based on his genetic structure. See?" Izzy, meanwhile, was wandering throughout the room. The floor was green marble, the ceiling white plaster. It looked, for all the world, like a room out of a human museum-which, in a way, it was.

"Datamon's Museum of Extinct Peoples." Izzy intoned, gazing at a massive bronze plaque on the left wall. "This is surely the product of a twisted mind." Seven display cases stood near the door, four of them housing models of Tai, Joe, T.K and an older, tired-looking Sora. The other three, those corresponding to Izzy, Matt and Mimi, were empty. Behind that, another eight cases housed the appropriate crests. Here, four were absent from the display, Knowledge, Friendship, Sincerity and Hope. The rest of the room was empty; clearly, Datamon was planning to expand his collection. "He wasn't trying to imitate us." Izzy realized. "He planned to assimilate us. Absorb the best aspects of our culture into his own. Then destroy us. And countless other races. Was this his agenda?"

"Tai's still alive." Joe repeated to himself. "That isn't him, just a replica. There's still a chance."

"Are these the actual crests?" Izzy called, indicating the second row of cases.

"According to the plaques, yeah." Joe answered, glancing over them. Raising the barrel of the pistol, he brought it down on the first display, releasing the crest of courage. He winced as the case broke, a fragment grazing his wrist. Behind him, a dull thud echoed the sound of shattering glass. Turning, he realized with that not all of the displays were merely replicas. Galvanized by the noise, Sora Takenouchi was pounding feebly on her glass prison, gazing pleadingly out at him. It took him a moment to recover from the initial shock. "Sora! I-…" Gesturing for her to duck, he aimed, squeezed his eyes shut and fired the pistol point blank into the glass. The case shattered, Sora spilling like so much liquid. Joe dived to catch her, alarmed at how easily she slipped through his arms. "It's all right…it's all right…" He muttered over and over, kneeling among the glass shards and holding her crumpled form.


	5. Reasons Why

4. Reasons Why

"He wanted me to tell him things…random things, really…trivia. About our world, and us, history, politics, entertainment…" Izzy had brought a health dose of water in a tin canteen, and several bland, military-issue wafers. Sora was currently devouring one of these, speaking between ravenous bites, her strength visibly returning. She was thin to the point of emaciation, bones showing clearly beneath her skin, eyes sunken and lips pale. "He claimed humans were the epitome of logic and reason."

   "Datamon though _humans _were logical? Just what did you tell him?" Izzy shook his head disbelievingly.

   "Why did they hate each other?" Joe asked impulsively.

   "Huh?" Sora looked up, wide eyes questioning. 

   "Etemon and Datamon. They despised each other."

   "I think…Etemon and Datamon were both evil, really…as we see it, I mean. But…Datamon was a different kind of evil." She turned to Izzy, seeking words.

   "Etemon was…arrogant. Obnoxious. Vain. Egomaniacal." He offered.

   "Right. And Datamon was completely different. And they hated each other, just because of that…there might have been some original dispute, maybe about the dark network. It was Datamon who designed it, of course…I just don't know. He never talked about it." She took a sip of water.

   "Well, if my hypothesis is correct, and Datamon did indeed clone the virus-type Digimon known as Etemon from the genetic material of Elvis Presley, then the source of this animosity seems clear enough. The pawn developed a mind of his own, gained ambition. Datamon didn't like that, tried to put him in his place. Failed. Etemon had him imprisoned." Izzy theorized. Beneath his tunic, his crest glowed faintly. "Just like Demidevimon."

   "Anyway, we have our crests." Izzy held up Joe's tag, along with Tai's and Sora's. "Now all we need to do is find T.K's and rescue our Digimon."

   "It's not that simple." Joe objected. "Sora's weak. She needs rest, we can't just press on."

   "I'll be fine." She insisted. "Don't worry on my account."

   "Besides, if we leave, we may never be able to come back. They might seal off the lab, or at any rate, discover our tunnel and block it off." Izzy added.

   "It's not a matter of what we _should_ do. I'm telling you, we _can't_ go on."

   "Listen, I'll stay here. You two go on ahead." Sora offered.

   "Absolutely not. We're going back, and that's final. I'm not going risk Gomamon's life over…over…"

   "Over Sora. That's what you meant to say, wasn't it? Sora's more important than Gomamon. Your fellow human." Izzy accused. Joe scowled, the younger man had hit a nerve.

The tension in the hall was tangible, the air thick with it. Somewhere, great events were transpiring, and the world held its breath, waiting. Every Gazimon in the complex was on edge, the two commanding officers being no exception. Rothstein took a labored breath, drumming his claws nervously on the tabletop.

   "Your move." He gazed levelly at his opponent. Wallace leaned forward to better observe the playing field, fingering on of his pawns. 

   "Check." He announced, sliding it within a square of Rothstein's King. The lieutenant sneered, taking the pawn with a bishop, which, in turn, was removed by a knight. Neither face betrayed any emotion, minds working feverishly behind impassive facades.

   "Hey, boss…" Wallace began, trying desperately to rebuild, maneuvering a pawn to cover his castle's advance. Gazimon, who should have been masters at chess, often had difficulty grasping the nature of the game. Wallace in particular was unable to accept that it was not, in fact, a military simulation, and that certain tactics were called for. Rothstein was moves away from winning his seventh consecutive victory. "Forgot to tell you. New prisoners this morning." Rothstein shrugged dismissively, taking Wallace's knight. The taskmaster was clearly trying to distract him. It wouldn't work.

   "I'll bet." Rothstein said.

   "Biyomon and a Gomamon…Demidevimon had them shipped from the palace. Marked for liquidation." There was a lengthy pause. "Just thought you should know." Wallace finished, sighing, accepting defeat.

   "Checkmate." Rothstein announced. Wallace's king was pinned between a Queen and a Castle, trapped. Rothstein swept the pieces off the board. "I'll look into it. Right now, our highest priority is containing D-…" He caught himself at the last moment. "The former Director. Demidevimon would be most displeased if…" And with that, a dull fanfare sounded nearby, the sound of bleating trumpets. The double doors swung open.

   "Speak of the devil…" Wallace noted, glancing up from the board.

   "…And he shall appear." Rothstein finished, rising to greet the guard who entered. 

   "Spencer." He noted, saluting formally.

   "No time for pleasantries. His Eminence Lord Demidevimon has arrived. He would speak to the director." Spencer walked briskly past him, not bothering to salute in turn. Rothstein glared at his retreating back.

"Now, I'll only ask this once, and listen real good 'cause I'm not about to repeat myself. Tell…me…the…secret…of…the…crests! These damned clones of yours can't control their Digimon! Now tell…me…the secret!" Demidevimon pressed his face to the glass, projecting his will into the cell. A minute passed, then another. Datamon was silent, facing away from the monarch. Clearing his throat, Demidevimon circled the enclosure, putting himself face-to-face with Datamon-who simply rotated, looking away once again. "Don't dare turn your back on me, worm! Do you know who I am? I'm Demidevimon, that's who, sovereign lord of File and Server!" Seemingly unimpressed, Datamon continued to stare away. For nearly an hour, Demidevimon continued to shout, beating his wings against the glass, but to no avail. Datamon remained silent.

   "He's disengaged his primary auditory receptors." Spencer observed, coming up behind them. "He recognizes that there is sound, and can probably discern its source, but doesn't bother to decipher it. To him, you're just noise." With a scowl worthy of Etemon himself, the diminutive monarch turned away.

   "This job aint half as easy as I thought…" He muttered in passing. For some reason, Spencer remained, gazing at the monster. He looked harmless, now, discarded, but presently, he came to life. With no wasted movement, Datamon turned and shuffled slowly, purposefully toward Spencer, stopping some three feet away. His face was expressionless, inscrutable.

   "Poor Demidevimon." He mused, his mechanical monotone barely piercing the glass. "He really is a simple creature. It was only power, for him. And respect. Each of us acts for an entirely different reason…because he cares only for himself, Demidevimon wishes to know how to control my clones. But you do not, so it amuses me to tell you. You wish to know why _I_ act." Spencer nodded, searching the Director's face for some sign of emotion, some telltale trace of a motive. None was forthcoming. "My initial experiments with the girl and her Biyomon were disastrous, I do not mind telling you. I believed the Digimon bound to the power of the crest, of the Digivice…but as that avian proved; this was not the case. She broke my control, and had to be forcibly subdued. My cloning process may be able to replicate general genetic structure, but there is a certain quality of a rational being that it has proved unable to capture. My prototype, Etemon, was frustratingly unlike the being he was designed to emulate. In that case, I was not even able to pinpoint the species, failing genetically as well as spiritually. When I attempted to clone the girl, the technology had improved considerably. The clone was like her in ever way, but it lacked something…human essence. There is a certain facet of a human being which exists outside of their genetic structure…they call it the spirit. The being known as Vademon-…"

   "The curiosity salesman?"  Spencer broke in, vaguely recalling the membranous, fleshy creature from a long-ago visit to the palace.

   "Precisely. Vademon is motivated by experience…knowledge. He merely wishes to _know_, does not care to understand. For him, it is enough to posses something. But not for me. Vademon was able to imbue my clone with the girl's essence, and the boy as well, but could not explain its nature to me."

   "You couldn't accept what you couldn't understand." Spencer guessed, pacing, puzzling it out. "You couldn't let it be. You began to dissect it, to analyze it, experiment with it, on it. Pick it apart." The both came to a stop, staring intently at one and other. "You're mad." He realized, eyes widening, he stepped back. "Completely mad. That's why you act. You have driven yourself too it. You tried to find logic in the illogical, reason in the meaningless. Tried to apply your age-old theorems to human nature. And it's driven you to madness." There was nothing remotely psychotic in Datamon's manner, he was unnervingly calm, still the impossibly logical entity he had always professed to being. If he was mad, after, all, it was a madness so intensely rational that sanity paled in comparison. "That is why you strive to emulate human culture. You hope, through this, to understand humans…"

   "And you…you have discovered in a second what I have yet to decipher. Emotion is familiar to you. You have taken it into yourself, and it has weakened you. I can see it in your manner. You are directionless, unsure of your purpose."

   "I will destroy you. That is my purpose. You _are_ mad, I see, and therefore must be destroyed. And I hate you. Another humanism. I do not dislike you, a Gazimon would dislike you. A human would hate you, as I hate you."

   "So you say. Yes, I hate you as well, though not for betraying me. Such petty things are all beneath me now. What I desire is what has been denied me, and what is familiar to you. This _emotion_…I must possess it. I must understand it." 

   "Emotion is neither rational or irrational, it transcends logic. You will never understand it."

   "You underestimate me. I am the most advanced computer in existence. There is nothing I cannot process." It was a flash of inspiration, something akin to a religious experience. All at once, it was perfectly clear.

   "No…I have not underestimated you, I have misjudged you. You are not mad, after all. You have _always_ been like this. This fanatical drive to discern the nature of humanity is merely a manifestation of what you consider rationality…you are not mad, you are a fool. You have called Demidevimon a simple creature…he, at least, acts with purpose. You, however. You wish to understand all things. Ascend to omniscience. And you are a fool for believing that possible. I leave you here, simple creature, to live out the rest of your meaningless existence. Farewell." And he turned, thinking himself very dramatic. He was unable to suppress a slight smile, he walked lightly, no longer feeling constrained by earthly forces. He had risen above Datamon. He saw through him. He was truly a greater being, superior to another, and there is no one living who can know this and not be happy.

They walked in total silence, not even looking at one and other. By now, they each wished more than anything to apologize, but would not be the first to give in on account of pride. Sora saw this, recognized its absurdity, but also its necessity. She had always considered empathy a gift-but when you truly understood why others acted, more often then not, it made you want to cry. She recalled Izzy's words-how could Datamon ever think humans were logical? They were the antithesis of logic, not even Datamon could ever understand them, let alone her. She had learned that, when in doubt, it was best not to intervene.

   "We can't walk back." Joe said. "Have Tentomon digivolve." They were some distance into the desert now, and approaching the edge of the area Kabuterimon had cleared. Looking at Izzy, Sora could tell he was bitter, looking for some way to disagree. Joe, however, had chosen his statement well. It was entirely irrefutable. 

   "Right." Izzy muttered begrudgingly. He held his Digivice to the sky, turning it so that it caught the light of the moon, gazing at the indicator gauge. Nothing happened. A moment passed, the night breeze stirring the sand at their feet. Izzy glanced around, perplexed. Perhaps some power of the dark network was causing this malfunction.

   "Listen, I promise, we'll go back first thing tomorrow." Joe said by way of apology, facing New Cairo. "We'll rescue Gomamon and Biyomon and kill Demidevimon and find out what happened to Tai and all of that. Just not now." Izzy had nothing to say to that. 

   "Something around here must be blocking the Digivice. Someone wants to keep us here, and not to destroy us. The dark network would have done that already." Tentomon mused, scanning the clearing. He sighted it immediately, a shallow well of wires and circuits half-buried by the sand.

   "A hologram projector." Izzy observed flatly, regarding it without curiosity. When no one moved to investigate, Sora shrugged and walked over to it, gently brushing the sand from its surface. Almost immediately it came to life, sending prismatic stream into the air, which quickly formed into a three-dimensional image of a man. They did not gape, as they had done ten years ago. Joe, in fact, did not look remotely surprised. 

   "Gennai." He started toward the image, arms crossed behind his back, hunched over almost imperceptibly.

   "Digidestined." The image intoned, and its voice was so faint even Sora had to strain to make it out. It was barely a whisper, a faint wheezing noise emanating from the old man's chest. He resembled, Joe thought, a mummy, his corpse somehow preserved these ten years without bandages and, evidently, with his brain intact. The image paused, evidently unable to recall their names. "The world is in peril…"

   "Like hell it is." Joe spat, rage frothing to the surface once again. Gennai went on, unmindful of his outburst.

   "Datamon must be stopped…"

   "That so? Don't bother to tell us why, it's always the same. Wants to take over the world. Wants to _destroy_ the world. And, of course, it's All Up To Us." From his pocket, he took his crest. It looked faded, a simple trinket, not the vibrant icon it once was. Faded, like Etemon, like Gennai, like everything. 

   "The world _is_ in peril…" Gennai insisted, feebly. Even now, there was irresistible force in his whispering voice.

   "And after Datamon, who then? Demidevimon? Kokatorimon? _Digitamamon_? It's always someone else, we can never rest."

   "That is the way of things. Life is a constant struggle between good and evil, there is no respite. Evil can never be extinguished entirely…" Gennai spoke more clearly now, his eyes gleaming, something of his old self rising within him. "So we fight. Forever, maybe. A new threat comes, and we face it as best we can. Evil will not rest. And neither can we. Today, it is Datamon. Tomorrow, it may be Demidevimon. We will fight them all. It is our destiny."

   "Destiny, prophecy…we, the Digi_destined_…enough. You can go on, if you want…fighting your endless war. It's not for me." He made as if to fling the crest away, but could not. It stuck to his fingers, his hand closing around it at the last second. Face twitching dangerously, he turned and began to stalk towards the city, so many miles away. Realizing immediately that it was hopeless, he collapsed in the sand nearby, staring disconsolately up at the sky. Sora, her own face full of concern, took after him. Gennai held up a hand.

   "Let him go. Perhaps…perhaps it is the only way. And if he does not want to fight, we cannot force him."

   "It's not a matter of forcing him." Sora claimed. "He's only confused. This has all been hard on him, on all of us. He needs someone to talk too." 

   "And perhaps he will find them wherever he is heading." 

"Your cheapest drink." Joe requested. Why did that sound familiar? Like those words had left his parched lips before, with the same inflection, at some earlier date. Digitamamon did not scowl, as he had been expected too, but shuffled off quietly to fill the request. The place was empty; it was late. The sane were safe at home, and the drunkards had long since run out of credit and wandered out into the night.

   "That crest at your neck. You're Digidestined." Digitamamon noted, casually, offhand. Of course. He was wearing the crest outside his robes, how careless. Possibly fatal mistake. But what could be done? Sighing, he tucked it inside the garment, glad to have it out of his sight.

   "What do you want?" He inquired dully. He could pay, if not much.

   "I have known this for some time now. Have calculated potential profit. But Demidevimon is preoccupied, and due to inflation, the bounty offered at ten years ago is not nearly enough to make it worthwhile. There are other alternatives, here, for turning a profit…blackmail…but it is not worth it. I can never rise above my caste, never become a technocrat. It is not worth it. Now, of course, Demidevimon is in power, and it will be different, but not yet. We shall see. We can only see. Am I softening with age, I wonder?" The question was not meant to be answered, and hung there as Digitamamon served Joe his generic beer.

   "You wear that crest like an albatross around your neck." The barkeep observed, scrutinizing it. "You know us businessmon…always looking to make a profit off other's misfortune. I could get you a good price on that, being a relic of the crest war…unmatched historical value…"

   "No, I…somehow, I couldn't. Listen, if you aren't going to turn me in, do you mind if I talk?"

   "Go ahead…free country."

   "And you won't listen?"

   "I suppose not."

   "I…I know this won't make sense to you, but…when I met up with Izzy, I thought it'd be just like old times. When we fought Devimon, and won. All of us together, and our Digimon…friends…but it can never be the same. I told him that, once, and I should have listened. Everything will be different now. Not even _evil _is the same…it's all completely different, and more complicated. I can't make sense of it." Digitamamon turn to the wall, inspecting the row upon row of polished glasses stacked there. From outside, there was a faint hum, the distant roar of a crowd. "Everything from these past few days seems so surreal, dreamlike…somewhere, something, it was never meant to be. I don't know." He was rambling, nonsense, verbally sorting through his thoughts. Digitamamon took no notice. Joe's thoughts strayed to Izzy, and Tentomon and Sora, in that cramped, poorly maintained fourth floor apartment, planning their assault on the palace. Maybe he would be with them tomorrow, would rescue Gomamon. He imagined the reunion, in all its storybook splendor. Pretty, yes…but sadly implausible. He might walk out in the street, ten minutes from now, and get beaten to death by a gang of outcastes. Or hit by a Monochromon caravan. He was, after all, mortal-Digidestined or not. No storybook ending. Not since Devimon.

   "It does not matter if Etemon rules in New Cairo, or Gennai." Digitamamon now spoke, not really to Joe, just as Joe had not really been speaking to Digitamamon. "They cannot extinguish life. Somehow, no matter the circumstances, we will manage to persevere."

   "To paraphrase…life goes on?" There was no answer, but nonetheless, he smiled. Sliding his half-finished beverage to the very edge of the counter, he stood, shrugged his robe closer about him and strode out into the night.


	6. Secret Weapon

Note: As you may or may not know, this story was meant to end with the previous chapter. It was nearly a year ago that I finished it, and, since then, I haven't been able to put it out of my mind. It isn't my best work. Still, I really, sincerely _like_ it. Time, I think, has made a better author of me, and I can finally do The 'Mon In The High Castle justice by giving it the conclusion it deserves. Specifically, another two chapters and an epilogue.

5. Secret Weapon

   The boy slept. He had done so for nearly a decade, but he could not have known that. Time had ceased to pass for him in all respects. Preserved beneath the glass was the ruddy face of a twelve-year old as it had been when he had fought for his life, and lost. The memory of that time had not faded, and surfaced, in fits, as a nightmare, but he had passed from the waking world with a radiant smile stamped on his features. It had mystified his captors, and he was further heartened by their ignorance—_not all was lost. _Some of the others had lived, escaped. He had been led into Etemon's sanctum without a trace of fear in his heart. He had looked into Datamon's calculating eyes, and something in his own gaze had so disturbed the Director, so utterly unnerved him that for a moment there was no distinguishing between captor and captive. The boy was not beaten, then or ever. Datamon had realized that. That smile had not slackened, not even then, not even when the Gazimon beat him with their nightsticks. The most grotesque tortures threatened my Kokatorimon had left him unfazed, and Datamon knew better than to implement any of them—it would ruin the boy as a specimen. His mind was his only component that could be safely assaulted, and it seemed impervious.

   At last, there was no alternative to an absolute erasure of memory. The procedure was successful, but only initially—the slightest familiar sensation would trigger a chain reaction, restoring the boy's mind in a matter of hours. If there was any one thing Datamon could never tolerate, it was uncertainty, and the boy was too unreliable to serve.  So Datamon had sealed him away, our of his sight in a state of perpetual stasis. The Director had not looked on him in seven years. He slept on.

   And, as suddenly as they had forced him into sleep, the computers surrounding him failed. They had fed him, breathed for him, and now their work was finished. Their plugs had been pulled. The boy was jolted awake, out of a shining, glorious dream. There had been a game, soccer, fans cheering frantically, a single, pure voice raised above all others. A single word escaped from his waking lips—_Hikari_… Then reality came over him, and the shards of the dream fell away. Agony gripped him at the loss, though, since he remembered nothing of it, he could not say why it had been so precious to him.

   Demidevimon whistled. "Datamon, ya sly old son-of-a-bitch…had this hidden away the whole time, didja?" he exclaimed. He was the first sight the boy's eyes registered, his high voice the first sound, his nicotine-tainted breath the first scent. The boy recoiled.

   "And it isn't any sort of clone, oh no," another voice muttered. It was cold and cultured. "This…is the original model! Mm…splendid." The speaker was a fleshy creature, resembling an oversized brain that had sprouted great tendrils and eyes. The boy could not have recognized Vademon.

   "Welcome to the world of the living, kid!" Demidevimon said, "You feelin' alright?"

   Without hesitation, Taichi Kamiya nodded. He climbed to his feet.

   With sinking spirits, Spencer entered the palace throne room. Its decoration had not changed since Etemon's death. The only sign that his reign had ended was his throne, which stood empty. Demidevimon, powerless and hopelessly small beneath the hall's high roof, perched on its arm. There was tense silence as Spencer approached, saluted and stood at attention. 

   Demidevimon indicated the throne with an outspread wing. "Big chair," he said, "Hard to fill."

   Spencer said nothing.

   "Anyways," Demidevimon began, "Glad you came. Not everyone's showed up when I summoned them, ya know. Some of the technocracy's cleared out." His voice, which had been a grating whisper a moment before, rose to a shout. "_What's it take_!? Just what the hell does it take, anyway? Why don't they listen, what's wrong? Waited my whole life for this job…Etemon wasn't my first boss, I groveled t' all of them, yes-master-no-master, all the time thinking _Some day it'll be me in that big chair, me throwing orders around_…that was the only thing that ever kept me going. And now I'm at the top and they still won't listen. Ha!" His laugh echoed through the hall. "But you'll see, you'll be the first to see—my Secret Weapon. Guards! Vademon!" he called. Behind him, at the far end of the hall, double doors swung open. Brilliant white light shone through, silhouetting a cluster of figures. Spencer peered at them. Gazimon, S.S, at least five of them. Then there was a taller being with a bulbous head, Vademon, he guessed. 

   The salesman slithered forward. "Honored Captain Spencer," he announced volubly, "Allow me to present the future bodyguard of the great Demidevimon, sovereign ruler of File and Server, whom Datamon has unwittingly provided for us. The Lord Tai!" With an elaborate gesture of presentation, he slid aside.

   A human child stood behind him. Spencer looked upon the face of the Lord Tai and staggered back. It was youth incarnate that stood before him, a figure so resplendent that everything seemed withered and ancient beside it. His magnificent mane of hair had been cropped close in a military style, but he was no less imposing. There was no question that he was the genuine article, there was a light in his eyes that was absent in those of clones. His uniform was the same close-fitting set of fatigues worn by the technocrats, but its cloth was dyed a vibrant blue, rather than their black. His shoulders, wrists and waist were marked with yellow, and a design of inlaid gold was blazoned across his chest. It was circle divided in two by a vertical line—two capital Ds, joined together. Demidevimon, apparently, had designed an emblem for himself.

   "Datamon, he'd scrubbed the kid's mind clean. Didn't know who or where he was when he woke up. But we fixed that," Demidevimon gloated.

   "Lord Tai, relate your story to Captain Spencer," Vademon requested. 

   The boy spoke, his voice loud, bright and unfaltering. He recited his lines as though they had been carefully memorized. "I was once leader of a criminal gang known as the Digidestined. We killed and injured many Digimon while opposing Etemon, during the crest war. The Director—…" He broke off, his face twitching slightly. Concerned, Vademon moved forward, but Tai quickly recovered himself. "Sovereign Ruler Demidevimon," he said, "Showed me the…the unfortunate error of my ways. My only wish…at present…is to be of use to him," he finished, with a contented smile.

   "Well done," Vademon commended him.

   "This's it," Demidevimon cried, "My ticket into the people's hearts! He's a natural! Aint he a natural?"

   Spencer raised a paw in query. "A natural what, exactly?"

   "A natural stooge!" Demidevimon said, "He looks good, sounds good, no ambition…perfect!"

   "We ought to be careful…" Spencer began haltingly, "There's no telling…with Datamon's creations…"

   "No time! It's gotta happen now, now, now, I've gotta…what's the word…_consolidate _my power while there's still a chance. But listen, I've got it all planned out. It's set—three, four hours from now, we hold a big ceremony…parade, speeches, the works…" Demidevimon grinned manically.

   "What's the occasion?" Spencer asked.

   "An execution!" Demidevimon pronounced.

   Vademon spoke: "There is a considerable amount of _chaff_ remaining from Etemon's reign. Political dissidents, Gazimon and the infamous Datamon, as well as two now-useless clones and their uncontrollable digimon. We intend to stage a mass execution, a brilliant spectacle, really. Lord Tai had agreed to be our executioner, and I think he will do a magnificent job. Am I right?" He turned to the boy, who nodded eagerly.

   "Just tell me what to do," Tai enthused.

   "And what's your interest in all of this?" Spencer asked the salesman.

   Vademon scowled, then said quietly: "If you must know, Demidevimon has agreed to allow me a post in his government, in addition to my meager payment. I am to replace this Datamon as his overseer of the dark network."

   Spencer nodded, forcing air through his teeth. A terrible thought rose in the back of his mind, and pushed its way to the fore. "If I may be so forthright, my liege… There is a significant chance, if this plan of action is carried out…that Datamon will escape. At the moment, he's powerless, isolated, but if we bring him out into the open…he must have had contingencies, he was a meticulous planner. He may be counting on some outside force to free him. The weaker the security surrounding him becomes, the more variables are introduced, the greater the threat that he'll…"

   "That's enough!" Demidevimon cut him off with a wave of his wing. "I hear ya. Message received. Listen, Datamon can't possibly be under any more security than when he's right under our nose. He'll have guards. We can do this."

   "My liege, I _must _protest, better to destroy him as soon as possible, quietly, we just can't risk…" Terrible thoughts consumed him. Once, he had thought Datamon's vengeance was inevitable. The next instant, it had seemed he was safe forever. Now, again, doom seemed most likely.

   Demidevimon spread both his wings, in an effort to appear as large as possible. "Silence! Don't let that captainship go to your head. I've spoken, and that's how it's gonna be!"

   Spencer brought his nose to the glass of the cell. "An execution has been arranged, _prisoner_. Demidevimon requires some spectacle to divert the people's attention. He seems to think death will serve admirably."

   Datamon whirred to life. He had not even absorbed his jailer's first words. More pressing matters demanded his attention. There was much to plan. "Repeat yourself," he demanded.

   "Don't presume to order me about," Spencer said. Their angry stares locked for a moment. He went on: "Very well, I'll condense the news for you. You're to die, along with a pack of your technocrat aides. Four hours from now. And don't imagine telling you this pleases me."

   Datamon was expressionless. "Wallow in your shallow victory while you can. All things pass. Some more quickly than others." He seemed to think. His eyes shut, and there was a tremendous whirring noise as his processors were stirred to life. "You are an imprudent creature. Your greatest error was the defiance of your better. My ability is greater than yours. Because of this, you are sure to lose."

   Without even offering an answer, Spencer presented Datamon with his back. He, also, was occupied with other matters. Datamon's threat was wasted on him, not because he doubted it, but because he knew it was only a matter of time before it was fulfilled. Pessimism and blind terror seized him as easily as idealism once had. Perhaps, with the execution, there was a chance…

   No. Datamon would escape. If nothing else, he was strong, stronger by far than Demidevimon. He would find a way.

   Young, drunk on emotion, Spencer had acted unthinkingly. He looked back with horror on what he had believed to be revelations. How could he have ever thought he knew anything? He had freed the girl, yes, but that was all he had managed. He was now to inflict misery in Demidevimon's name, until Datamon destroyed him. And he had no one to blame, he imagined, aside from himself.

   Indeed, Vademon thought, there was no doubting Datamon's ability. He could deconstruct the mind of any digimon and rebuild it to whatever end he chose. Under his scalpel, undesirable traits were cut away like so much excess tissue. The equivalent of years of corrective therapy was administered within a few hours. He could render a subject psychotic or benevolent as he chose, and the younger the subject, the simpler the procedure. It was an elementary virus that had infiltrated the psyches of rookies Biyomon and Gomamon, deleted their moral codification and left them otherwise unscathed. Only the compulsion to protect and aid their partners remained, and Datamon's clones were as near to their partners as any living being could be. When they became the more murderously inclined Birdramon and Ikkakumon, they were no less in Datamon's thrall. At his command, they had murdered without hesitation, though there were few left to murder by that time. When the allies of the Digidestined fell they did so with incredible rapidity, rushing from their hiding places to aid each other. It was then that Datamon had put his first humanism to use-'Like shooting fish in a barrel'.

   Vademon was not Datamon. For all his arrogance, he was aware of that. There was a chance, relatively slight, that the Agumon on the operating slab before him had been subject to the same treatment as the others. More than likely, it had not, since its partner had never been put to use. What bewildered Vademon to no end was that Datamon had not simply cloned Tai, as he had Joe and Sora. The technology was available to him. There had been nothing to lose, everything to gain. Well, it wasn't his place to second-guess anything the Director did, he reasoned. Datamon's intellect, boundlessly superior to his own, must have seen some sense in all of it.

   Agumon's induced stasis device was identical to Tai's. To determine if the digimon could be of any use, he had only to pull the plug. Simple enough, and armed Gazimon stood by, Rothstein himself among them, should anything go awry. Still, he didn't dare. Better to have the boy do it himself.

   "Fetch our specimen," he commanded Rothstein, without turning. The technocrat scowled as he left to obey. The salesman had been at the palace for only a day, and already he commanded more authority than Demidevimon's oldest and staunchest allies.

   A minute passed, and Vademon made a show of inspecting Agumon, not wanting to seem idle. At last, returned footsteps sounded. It was Tai who entered first, moving with the lazy, strolling gait that he had assumed since his awakening.

   "How can I help?" he asked. His smile broke out as he looked on Vademon. Then, taking in the rest of the room, his gaze fell on Agumon. "I remember—," he murmured, with sudden urgency.

   "_No_," Vademon snapped, rushing forward, "You remember nothing. You've never met this creature before, he means nothing to you, understand? He was specially bred to serve your needs."

   Tai blinked forcibly, and shook his head as though to rid himself of some notion. "Specially bred to serve my needs," he repeated, "Right. Got it."

   "This one may prove more susceptible to recovery than my calculations suggested," Vademon called to Rothstein, speaking heedlessly over Tai's head, "Keep an eye him, as well. You have my unqualified permission to terminate him if he becomes a threat." Rothstein answered with a curt nod.

   Not even suspecting that he had been implicated, Tai continued to gaze at Agumon. "So," he said, "How do we wake him up?"

   "Hey!" Joe felt a rough hand on his shoulder. He cringed as the sensations of his environment struck him, dirt beneath him, stale air, the stench of liquor and waste. He had often slept in alleys, having never had a cent of Datamon's currency to his name. However, ten years spent broke, hunted and in fear of his life had not been enough to erase the memory of twelve years of comfortable awakenings, between clean sheets in a familiar house.

   The voice that had woken him belonged to a Gazimon. The sight of it was a shock as well, usually he woke out of sight of digimon, and was able to ease himself gradually into the waking nightmare of the digital world. No such luck this time. It was an S.S officer, nightstick in hand, looking somewhat less murderous than his kind usually did. "Hey," he repeated, more softly.

   "That you, Spencer?" Joe asked sleepily.

   "Captain Spencer! I'm flattered, pal, but I'm just a regular footpad. Joyce is the name," the officer said. Joe pulled himself hastily to his feet, and pulled the hood of his cloak about his face. It was too late. Joyce had seen his face clearly, but apparently thought nothing of it. Joe imagined he bore no likeness to his twelve-year-old self, the individual who was wanted across File and Server for his crimes. "Sorry to have to be the one to tell you," said Joyce, "But you've gotta get yourself out of the street, hear? Some kind of royal parade's coming through here. I was told to clear the route."

   Joe nodded rapidly, and climbed to his feet. "Right, thanks…shouldn't be any difficulty, officer," he said hastily in passing. 

   "Huh! That's a relief," said Joyce, "Thought you were drunk, and I'd have to drag you out of the way. Well, go about your business, then. I'd stay for the parade, if I were you. I hear it's gonna be quite a show." Joe nodded again, muttered his thanks and shuffled away as quickly as he was able to. Memories of the past night surfaced, ideas he had invented and discarded in his last ditch effort to make sense of life. He emerged from the alley and into the broad street. The same war of ideas commenced in his head, what was right, what was wrong…it was too early to think, he concluded. Clutching his head, he came to a stop before an establishment, the bordering alley of which he had chosen to spend the night in. At his feet, a flight of stairs led down to a basement room. The glyph of reliability, the image of his crest, was rendered in blue on the door. A hand-lettered sign read simply—'Kido'. He had arrived at the threshold of one of his own shrines. _Reliable_, he thought, and gave a dry laugh. The last word he'd ever choose to describe himself. Still, compelled, he leapt down to the landing. There was no sound from within, and the door was unlocked. He swung it open.

   The same dawn found Izzy and Sora wide awake, though feigning sleep for each other's benefit. After her confinement, even Izzy's quarters were too vast for Sora to feel at ease. She lay on the cot, eyes forcibly shut. Izzy's prone form was arranged parallel to hers, on the floor, Tentomon's shell serving as his pillow. His mind raced with thoughts of glorious rescues and daring escapes, all painstakingly calculated. He enacted Demidevimon's death by his hand, Tai's liberation, the fall of the great inverted pyramid and, perhaps, the ultimate victory, the end of all Etemon's creations…and he speculated about Sora's past, whatever unspeakable tortures she has endured, whatever dark secrets of Datamon's she had witnessed…

   Each knew the other was awake, and hoped that he or she found some comfort in the fact that they had found sleep. They wanted to speak more than anything, but could not. There was so much to be said that it had overwhelmed them, and they had fallen the previous night without a word to each other. Now, the night had passed, and light spilled over the windowsill. It had been light for at least an hour, Izzy approximated. He had every right to be awake. And yet, when he tried to stand, his body protested fatigue. Nothing worked the way it was supposed to.

   Then, he was forced fully into the conscious world. The ground shuddered. There was a crescendo of street noise, rattling vehicles approaching, the gathering roar of a crowd. A mellifluous voice was projected through a microphone—

   "Good ladies and gentle'mon, one and all…I present to you Demidevimon, slayer of Hope, Sovereign Lord of File and Server!" Izzy recognized Vademon at once. He shot to his feet, grouping blindly for Sora's shoulder. He shook her awake.

   "Hello, one and all!" Izzy heard Demidevimon begin. His voice rasped less than ever, and there was even a hint of authority in it.

   Sora was up in an instant, and she pulled the window's shade aside. They peered out. Digimon teemed beneath them; they had formed two columns on either side of the road. Four wooden carts, each drawn by a Monochromon, lurched between the columns. In the first, a contingent of technocratic Gazimon stood at attention, rifles shouldered. In the next, the form of Datamon was unmistakable, wound about with chains. Several other technocrats shared the cart, all of them manacled. The next cart bore two small digimon, brightly colored, both insensible. Izzy thought they had to be Biyomon and Gomamon, but there was no telling for sure. In the last cart, two human children stood, back to back, hands bound together. One was a twelve-year-old model of Joe, the other a similarly young Sora. 

   "Only clones," Izzy murmured to Sora, and she nodded dully. The fact seemed to give her no solace.

   The last vehicle of the parade was heralded by a platoon of twenty-four armed technocrats, every one of them a captain. Spencer, perturbed, marched in the front rank. The vehicle was an iron sedan chair of colossal proportions, blood-red and edged all around with gold leaf. Six Monochromon were harnessed to it.

   Demidevimon flew before it, speaking through a megaphone clutched in one talon. Vademon and Kokatorimon were seated within it, the S.S director filling three seats and gnawing at a slab of meat. Rothstein, his chest inflated with pride, was seated behind them.

   Then, following  the royal seat, one last dignitary marched. Lord Tai. His mount was the most horrible creature most digimon of the city had ever laid eyes on. It was a skeletal lizard over thirty feet in length, claws and talons wickedly sharp. Housed within its ribcage was a vast, porous organ resembling a living missile. Any Digidestined would have known it by name—SkullGreymon. Tai balanced on the very tip of its snout, flashing his smile in all directions and waving to the citizens. Demidevimon's prediction proved accurate. They cheered at the sight of him, and marveled at the obvious might of his digimon. His was a clean splendor that had not been seen in New Cairo for many years, not since the old King's younger days.

   Etemon's old concert grounds, paved with cobblestone, stood at the junction of four streets. The first of the carts now came upon it. It came to a grinding stop, and discharged its contingent of Gazimon. They fanned out, marking the square's perimeter and keeping an eager crowd in check. The pervading air among the onlookers was one of confusion, but many sensed imminent violence and hungered for it. One by one, the death-carts entered the square, and came to a stop at its center. Demidevimon's royal seat halted at the mouth of the street. The Lord Sovereign was concluding his speech.

   "…And this former foe is prepared to offer a demonstration of his loyalty! Today, you will witness him execute enemies of the state, conspirators, degenerates, and his former villainous comrades," Demidevimon declared. The crowd bellowed. It was difficult to tell whether they cheered or condemned, but, in either direction, their emotions had reached a feverish height. 

   SkullGreymon passed by the royal seat, none too careful to keep clear of civilians. The crowd surged back. Tai continued to smile and wave. Then, as he and SkullGreymon approached the death-carts, he dismounted with a graceful leap. He landed on his feet, unharmed, and was rewarded with a resounding cheer.

   "My servant!" Demidevimon shouted down to him.

   "Yes, my liege?" Tai called up.

   Demidevimon extended his free claw, indicating Datamon's cart. "Begin with that lot," he ordered. Tai crossed the cobblestones, and stood before the target.

   "Fire at will!" bellowed Rothstein. The contingent beneath him lowered their rifles, in the event that Tai should fail, unlikely as it was. Tai nodded summarily in response to the command. He leapt up to the edge of the cart, so that he had clear view of his victims.

   Spencer lowered his rifle a fraction of an inch. Leaning forward, he scrutinized Datamon. The Director had yet to make his move, perhaps the execution would be carried out after all. Then, with surge of panic, he realized what had escaped all of the others—

   There was triumph in Datamon's eyes. He looked up, and spoke in a level voice to his would-be executioner. "Boy. You remember me. You remember what I require of you. Now, serve your purpose."

   Tai turned slowly on his heel, his smile radiant as ever, until he faced the royal seat. There was a moment of resounding silence. A sickening realization came upon Demidevimon and all of his cohorts at once. Then, leveling an upraised finger at them, Tai called out: "SkullGreymon! Kill 'em all!" 


	7. Tyrants Destroyed

6. Tyrants Destroyed

Note: Some serious carnage ahead. I don't think that in and of itself it's enough to warrant an 'R' rating (mainly because, if the same standard that applies to movies is used, I should no longer be permitted to read my own fic without the presence of a parent or guardian).

   T.K's shrine had been empty, Joe's was not. Perhaps it was coincidence; he repressed a vain instinct to think otherwise. There was the same collage of photographic images and hand-drawn portraits, many of them peeling from the walls or coated in grime. Some of them were recognizable, but, for the most part, they portrayed an individual who had never existed, not even ten years ago. The face of this imagined Joe Kido showed only courage and resolve, there was not the slightest trace of doubt in his eyes or in the set line of his mouth. Joe remembered himself as he truly had been, cautious, tiring easily and allergic to everything, and nearly laughed aloud. 

   The largest portrait present, hanging across from the door, was more accurate. It depicted a boy in profile. His demeanor was harrowed, doubts played across his features and he held a hand to his forehead. He wished to run, that was clear, but there was no suggestion of movement in him. He stood his ground. _He's dead, now, _thought Joe, _but I'm still living._

   Beneath the portrait, a Floramon knelt. A green scarf was wound around her head. As the door creaked shut, she rose and turned to face the noise. Several other heads were also turned, and Joe found himself shrinking back.

   "Welcome," said the Floramon timidly. Joe realized his concealed face seemed suspicious, but he couldn't risk drawing his cowl back, even here.

   "Thank you," he said quickly, "Don't let me disturb you…" Something in his voice caused the Floramon to hesitate. She peered at him. He was taken with a sudden urge to flee, but, like the image in his portrait, he remained.

   "Stranger," said the Floramon, "Your voice…"

   "What of it?" Joe snapped, more harshly than he had intended. All at once, a Poromon near his feet bounced up. Seizing the hood of his cowl in its teeth, it tore it back, revealing his face. Too late, he fell back and reached for the door. A cry of adulation filled the small chamber. He turned, horrified, he had escaped detection for so long, and now, so easily…

   "Joe!" The Floramon shrilled. Before he could escape, she rushed to him, wrapping her tendrils firmly about his ankles. He stumbled.

   "You don't know me," he cried, "You can't possibly…!"

   "You've returned!" chirped the Poromon.

   The Floramon, burying her face in his tunic, mumbled: "As I knew you would. You saw our suffering…you were drawn back…to conquer all of these tyrants, to drive them out…"

   Before he could think to muster a rational response, Joe shouted: "That isn't why I'm here! I shouldn't even be here! I don't have to…have to fight…for anyone, I don't have to…" His voice broke.

   The Poromon, taken aback, regarded him with wide eyes. "You won't fight?"

   "No…" he choked, "I don't want anyone to be hurt…but I don't want to be hurt, either! I'm not gonna throw my life away just because…someone said… And anyway, there's nothing I can do."

   "But…don't you want to help?" It was a Gomamon that asked the question. Not his Gomamon, he would have had no trouble recognizing him.

   "I…" Words failed him. He looked around the room, hoping an answer was in view.

   "I don't understand," said the Floramon, looking up at him, "Nobody's telling you to do anything. We only hope you will…"

   Gently shaking free of his admirers, Joe stood. His eyes met those of his portrait, and he expected to find them accusing. "I haven't wanted anything in a long time," he said faintly. He crossed the room. None of the Digimon dared to follow, wary of this alien creature they thought they had known. "But, maybe I want to help. And maybe there's something I can do after all. Just maybe." 

   A frightened cry came from the street without. The Digimon looked to the door in alarm.

   "So I'll go out there," Joe said. His voice seemed infinitely distant. Once more, he looked around. On either side of the painting, a four-foot iron brazier stood. Each was only a simple iron pole, with a flat disc of a base and a bowl atop it in which incense smoldered. An iron spike projected from the bowl, meant to impale a candle. Its shaft was wound around with leather. He took hold of one, and raised it an inch above the ground. It was surprisingly light, and besides, he was stronger than he had once been. He extinguished the incense with a breath, and emptied it onto the floor. He lifted with brazier with both hands, and shouldered it. "And besides. It isn't like I have much to lose."

   The lives of so many came to an end that day that the last scenes they witnessed could have formed a seamless film. There had been no warning. The catastrophe was so sudden that, for many, its reality failed to register until the dust had cleared.

   Five seconds after Tai's command, a Gazimon, Streicher, was the first casualty. He had been recruited only days before, to replace a seasoned veteran who had resigned. Demidevimon's reign had brought about many such scenarios. His murderer, Koch, had been recruited only days before him. Kotch had only fired a rifle once before he discharged one into the back of Streicher's head. Eager to prove his worth, he had not checked his aim as thoroughly as would have been wise.

   Aside from Streicher and Kotch, all of the Gazimon guards opened fire on Tai, as they had been instructed. At a gesture from Datamon, the boy went limp, falling backwards into the cart along with the prisoners. Shots split the air above him, harming no one. 

   SkullGreymon's howl echoed through the square: "Double Dark Shot!" Before the utterance had finished, another life was taken. Assuming that Kotch had turned traitor along with Tai, Rothstein fired one of his own weapons at the soldier, killing him instantly. He then vaulted from the edge of the royal seat to the ground, only an instant before two of SkullGreymon's living missiles streaked towards it.

   Demidevimon, Vademon and Kokatorimon were not so astute. They could only stare stupidly at their oncoming doom. At last, Demidevimon thought to act. Folding his wings against his body, he plummeted earthward. The missiles passed over him.

   Vademon's lips formed the word _inconceivable_, but no sound left them. Kokatorimon uttered a guttural, inarticulate cry, his eyes bulging from their sockets. He been safe from danger for so long that he scarcely recognized it. Even if flight had occurred to him, he would not have been able to lift his weight out of the seat.

   Seizing Vademon by the neck, he croaked: "Grahck! You deadweight! Do something!" Panicking, Vademon reached out, seemingly into thin air, and produced a pistol with a flared barrel. He fired blindly ahead of him. The bursts of energy emitted by pistol collided with the missiles when they were only inches from his face. The resulting explosion enveloped the seat in a pillar of flame, carbonizing it and obliterating its passengers. Vademon and Kokatorimon died at the same instant. 

   Rothstein landed among his men. Once they had fired and missed, they were stymied. Their training had failed to prepare them for this.

   "Rush the cart, you imbeciles! Kill him!" Rothstein barked at them, breaking into a run himself. He held a pistol in each hand. After a minute's hesitation, the majority of his men followed at his heels, though more than one fled in the opposite direction. Loyalty had never been a Gazimon's forte. Rothstein ignored the deserters, concentrating only on reaching Tai. That was his downfall—he was blind to the true threat, the killing machine that Tai commanded. SkullGreymon stepped in front of him, his tail scything through the crowd behind him. Another missile was already sprouting from his back. Before him, Rothstein and his men were so many insects. Sneering, he brought his foot down among them. 

   The dying screams of Gazimon joined the general clamor that had swept through the square. The crowd wished to flee, but, disparate as it was, it could not agree on any one direction. Spectators shoved, clawed and trampled each other in their haste to get away. The Monochromon who had been harnessed to the carts, maddened by noise, broke loose. They charged in all directions, unmindful of anything in their path that could not stop them.

   All this within a matter of minutes.

   The passing of time had left some things unchanged. The Digidestined had fought for their lives time and again, and functioned as well as any military unit. As the first volley of gunshots, something human within Sora and Izzy was suppressed. Unintentionally or otherwise, Gennai had proved as apt an engineer of temperament as Datamon. His influence, coupled with the dangers of the digital world, had made human children as ready to do murder as their foes.

   "We can't right while divided," said Izzy, clenching his chin between finger and thumb.  

   Sora shook her head. "I don't understand any of this. Is it…even real?"

   "I apologize," Izzy said, "You told us so much. I ought to have returned the favor, and informed you of some of the basic details of…the political climate." As he spoke, he crossed the room to his laptop. Though it had once been his life, it had been of little use to him once he found himself a refugee. Still, he had been unable to part with it, for purely sentimental reasons. He now regarded it regretfully. "In short," he continued, "Nearly everyone out there is our enemy. If we're lucky, they'll destroy each other, save us the trouble. But…"

   "Joe," Sora said, "The Digimon…and, was that…Tai? Or only a clone?"

   Izzy nodded. "It must be a clone. But Agumon is out there, and he isn't only one. There's Joe as well, we should…find him. I doubt he's gone far. I also doubt he's decided to abandon us, he'd never…anyway, if you can track him down, I'll do what I can to rescue Agumon."

   "Didn't sound like Agumon needed any rescuing," Sora observed, "Sounded like all of them needed rescuing from Agumon. Or SkullGreymon." 

   "I can reason with him. Well, at least, I can try," said Izzy. Slowly, constantly hesitating, he reached into a pocket of his cowl. "We'll have to go into the open. That means we'll never be able to come back here, no matter what." Then, it a single motion, he drew his technocrat's data-pistol and fired it into the laptop. Like a Digimon, it vanished in a burst of data. It contained valuable information, he reasoned, he couldn't let it fall into the enemy's hands. But he didn't fail to recognize the symbolism of the act. 

   Sora knew that after all that she had witnessed, this loss should mean nothing. Nonetheless, there was something in it that made it incomparably sad to her, after all, the machine had been defenseless. It had not even suspected its fate.

   "Tentomon?" Izzy called. He looked to his partner's sleeping form, and realized that he hadn't been asleep after all—only stock-still, listening intently. Hearing his name, he unfurled his wings and flew to Izzy.

   "Ready," he buzzed. There was nothing flippant left in him. He existed only to follow orders, and now he awaited them.

   "We're going down to street. Maybe we'll be under attack from the start, maybe they won't even notice us…but anyway, we have to be prepared. Are you hungry?" Tentomon vehemently shook his head. In fact, he was, but he imagined he had enough energy remaining to digivolve, if it were required of him. Turning to Sora, Izzy asked: "You've got your crest and digivice? If that really is Biyomon, out there…" Sora's dull expression suggested she didn't dare to hope, but she nodded. Izzy checked his own pockets, nodded to himself and headed for the door. The others followed without a word.

   Sora thought that dust was rising from the earth. I took her a minute to realize that she was witnessing the dissolution of hundreds of corpses. Numemon, Pagumon, Gazimon and Gizamon, dead Monochromon as large as the carts they had towed. She knew she should gasp, cry or vomit, but she felt as though her capacity for horror had been exhausted. Nothing she had ever seen could compare to this. She walked, putting one foot stiffly in front of the other, and keeping her eyes trained on the horizon. With every step, her own weakness threatened to overwhelm her. The muscles of her legs had all but atrophied in captivity.

   _With any luck, _she thought, _Joe's far, far away from here. It doesn't matter if we never meet again, as long as he's safe._ And if he was alive, she had no idea where to begin looking for him.

   The abandoned death-carts stood ahead of her. One of them, she knew, would hold Biyomon, and the clones were also nearby. The thought of meeting her old partner sickened her. She might find her dead, and otherwise, even if whatever Datamon had done to her could be reversed, something had died between them. Friendship was impossible, and their presence would only serve to remind each other of a time when it had been. 

   Datamon rose above the edge of the cart, and took in the scene surrounding him. He said not a word. He had known this would come about, and saw no need to comment. The battle was hardly at end. Datamon's loyalists had joined the fray, wielding the chains that had bound them at first, then rifles scavenged from fallen enemies. They numbered only seven, but every one still lived. Datamon had chosen only the most able Gazimon as his lieutenants. 

   Of course, one factor alone turned the tide in the Director's favor. SkullGreymon could not be harmed. Gunshots directed at his bones might as well have been tossed pebbles, and any Gazimon luckless or foolish enough to come within range of his talons was torn to shreds. Tai had reclaimed his perch on his Digimon's skull, and took in the slaughter with detached interest. Within an instant, he had been metamorphosed from hero to merciless tyrant, playing both roles with equal abandon. Tai, whom the Director once regarded as his only failure, had served his purpose admirably. 

   Seemingly in empathy, the sun had begun to set, dying the sky virulent shades of red.

   Datamon lowered himself to the ground, and ran a cursory self-examination. He seemed to be in working order. He had undergone as brief period of malfunction following his ridicule at the hands of that insignificant speck of a Gazimon, but was otherwise none the worse for his imprisonment. The future, however, was uncertain. His old experiments had all been interrupted, derailed, and his legitimate position was shot. He required power, a great deal of it, and at once. In time, some chance occurrence would stir a memory in the boy, and he would regress to his former state. Then, he would have another enemy.

   The solution was apparent. He had designed and built the greatest power in the digital world, and it was time that it aided him. Directing his sensors inward, he searched his faculties for remote links to the dark network. Once he was on stable ground, he would locate some guileless Gazimon to replace Etemon and all would go on as before.

   Even as he began his mediation, it was interrupted. Something shrieked in his ear: "Look sharp, egghead! Demi-devi-_dart_!" He opened his eyes in time to see a syringe bury itself in his side. It discharged venom that would have crippled any organic creature, but Datamon was unharmed. Carelessly, he withdrew it and snapped it in two.

   "You continue to inconvenience me," he said. He rotated to face Demidevimon. 

   Though charred and bruised, the Lord Sovereign was not humbled. Eyes gleaming, talons clenched, teeth set in a desperate scowl, he stood his ground. "You've ruined me!" he screeched, "How dare…how could…I'll never, never have another chance! And all I ever wanted was…"

   "Silence," Datamon intoned, "You are through, pitiful creature. Those such as you exist only as fodder for beings of true power." Moving with reflexive speed, he snatched at Demidevimon, his fingers closing around the crest of Hope. 

   And again, he was interrupted. A human voice was raised over the sounds of battle, and directed toward him: "Damn you! You can't have him!" Datamon judged that whoever had spoken was some twenty meters distant, and probably presented no threat. With his other hand, he swatted Demidevimon, propelling his feather-light body into the air and out of sight. The crest was carried with him.

   "Weakness will out," said Datamon. 

   And Izzy rammed into him shoulder-first. "He…I…it wasn't supposed to work this way! I was meant to kill him, for what he did…!" he raged.

   Datamon assessed his new assailant with little more concern than he had afforded Demidevimon. "You, here? Interesting. You would give Demidevimon credit for the death of your friends? Do you seriously imagine he could have accomplished anything without my support, or that he aided me in the least? If you must vent for your petty losses, direct your anger at its proper target."

   Breathing heavily, Izzy stepped back. "So you admit that you're to blame for all of this?"

   "Blame?" Datamon cackled. "An interesting term. What does it matter if wrong you? It is nothing less than my right."

   "We freed you," Izzy said.

   "Yes, you served my ends. What of it? You were meant to do so. You were sent, ignorant, to your deaths, you were sent against me and I made use of you. And this Gennai could not have expected you would live, you were only, as it were, a stopgap measure…intended to buy him a few moments…"

   Izzy fired. The burst of data was absorbed seamlessly into Datamon's structure. Casting the weapon aside, he ran at the Director and struck out with his fists, feet and knees, succeeding only in bruising himself.

   Datamon's voice droned on, never halting, his manner analytical. "You do not know when you are beaten. It would have gone better with you if you had fallen with the others. You have only the body of a man, your mind and aimless indignation is still that of a child. You cling to your old ideals, blind to the truth, insisting that you fought _for the greater good_…nothing could be further from the truth. The greater good does not exist. This was the first truth that I came to realize. All beings seek power. All beings seek to exercise their power. All save me. The history of this world has not been good against evil, but a series of meaningless power struggles. I am the only higher purpose…Gennai sought to stop me because he realized what I was capable of. You were his pawns, and now he has cast you aside…" 

   Blood ran from Izzy's knuckles and welled inside his shoes. He had not inflicted a single wound on Datamon, and he relented, staggering back. "Shut up," he said, "Your words don't mean anything…"

   "You will see," said Datamon, "Now, listen well. You could be of great use to me in comprehending the psyche of your race, but if you will not come willingly, I will be forced to employ other methods." He called to Tai: "Boy! Your master is threatened!" But Tai could not aid him. Looking up, Izzy saw the reason and couldn't help but smile. Kabuterimon had seized him and was keeping him aloft with every ounce of his strength. SkullGreymon could only circle and snarl, any attack on Tentomon would destroy his partner. Kabuterimon clutched Tai to his chest, clasping him with all four arms. As for Tai, he was staring up at Kabuterimon as though trying to place some image in his mind.

   "Your clone's life is in my hands," said Izzy, "I doubt he could survive one Super Shocker."

   "You cannot know what you threaten," Datamon sneered, "The boy is no clone."

   Izzy's eyes narrowed. "You've lied before. He must be, there's no other explanation. He's still young, he should be older than me by now."

   "The boy was my security precaution, sealed away with just such an occasion as this in mind. You see how thoroughly I have planned. Regarding his age, my machines have kept him young. Yes, I am capable of this, it is really a most pedestrian display of my abilities. But it does not matter, in the end, whether he is a copy or the original. If he dies, SkullGreymon eliminates your Digimon before expiring himself. Then, I eliminate you. You could attempt flight, but my loyalists are at hand to apprehend you. Even if you were to succeed, this city is surrounded by my dark network. There is another option: you could fight, and fall, as you did before. Time and experience have not convinced you of the futility of this course of action. But I do not expect to _reason_ with you, humans are not convinced by such elementary tactics…let me see, what does your kind appreciate? Ah, I know. _Drama_. Perhaps a demonstration is called for."

   "What the hell are you talking about?"

   Datamon glided to one side, extended a hand in a manner of introduction. "Observe, he said." His two clones stood nearby, faces blank, arms stiff at their sides. His loyalists had freed them, but given them no further orders. "Both of you," Datamon called out to them, "What is the condition of your counterparts?"

   "Badly malnourished," said the Sora-clone. Her voice was not as mechanical as Joe would have expected, but there was no emotion in it.

   "They are barely alive," said the Joe-clone, "They can no longer fight."

   "Then they have completed their function," said Datamon, "As have you." He reached out a hand to them. "The surviving enemy drones have fortified that cart—" With an outstretched finger, he indicated one of the death-carts in the center of the square, one of only two that had not been overturned. "My loyalists have failed to capture it. I command you to do so at once, although you are unarmed, ignorant and entirely helpless."

   Izzy looked on, his face blank.

   Unhesitatingly, the clones turned and walked in the designated direction. Even the muzzles of rifles appeared over the edge of the cart, they did not slow, or even look to Datamon for guidance. As soon they neared it, five guns flared, five bursts of multicolored pixels surged through the air towards them. They marched on. The Joe-clone was struck first, one of the gunshots vanished into his chest. His entire frame flickered. An instant later, a second shot struck his head. This time, he collapsed, and pixels began to trail from his body. Three shots collided with the Sora simultaneously, and she burst apart.

   Datamon said: "Witness your history. See how freely your existences were spent. This is what you were, and what has become of you. Give yourself over to me, and you may at least expect a better fate than this."

   In the cart that Datamon had vacated, Demidevimon's surviving Gazimon had indeed found shelter. They had numbered thirty only an hour ago, now, eleven remained. Of those lost, as many had fled as had been killed. Rothstein had done what he could to keep his troops together, but the fact remained that there was nothing left to fight for. The surviving eleven had witnessed how easily Datamon had dealt with Demidevimon. It was unlikely that the Director would deal kindly with them, after they had imprisoned him. There was little hope that they could leave the square alive, as Datamon's loyalist Gazimon prowled the area. Only in the cart, their rifles aimed outward in all directions, did they have a fighting chance. Rothstein alone possessed a goal transcending survival. If Demidevimon was missing, and nearly all of his legitimate heirs slain, it was only natural that Rothstein should succeed him. For that to come about, two things were necessary. He would have to survive, and Datamon would have to perish.

   "That monster's guard is down," Spencer said, "We ought to run while there's an opening, not stay here, gunning down children." He had survived only by staying as far away from the battle as possible. His rifle had not been fired at all that day.

   "We're a match for that thing," Rothstein insisted. In fact, he had no such pretension. A more likely scenario, he reasoned, was that the Kabuterimon would do the job for him by getting rid of SkullGreymon's partner.

   "Don't be an idiot, there aren't enough of us, we aren't trained well enough," Spencer protested. Directed at his superior, they were suicidal words, and he realized it as soon as he had uttered them. "With all due respect, sir," he added.

   Rather than erupting, Rothstein shook his head, as though astonished at his captain's naiveté. "Spencer, Spencer, Spencer," he lamented, "You're young. You'll learn. When I was clawing my way up through the ranks, did I ever run? 'Course not. If you want something, anything in this life, you have to _fight for it_. Something threatens you? Kill it dead. Someone's in your way? Kill _them _dead. You do whatever it takes." He finished his speech with a contented smirk. A smile had been developing on Spencer's face as he spoke, as well.

   "Thank you, sir," he said, his voice unsettlingly soft, "I never thought of it that way. That makes a lot of sense. How can I ever thank you?" He would later insist that some external force had taken possession of him. He acted without thought, or even emotion.

   "Huh?" said Rothstein.

   Spencer raised his rifle, and fired point-blank into his commander's throat. 

   Sora saw the face of a Gazimon emerge from a cart. Before she could react, that face contorted in agony. "Wha—!" it shrilled. Raw data spewed from its throat, then its entire form collapsed inward and was gone. She blinked, reeled back. A voice echoed from the same cart: "What the hell d'you think you're doing!"

   "Exactly what he told me to do," another voice answered. "Now. Our commander is dead. It seems to me that, under these circumstances, a full retreat is called for. Isn't that right?" 

   Silence followed. Sora took another step back, intending to run but unable to bring herself to it. A second later, an orange-vested Gazimon sprang out of the cart, veered to the left and dashed away, his head down. As Sora watched, four more followed suit. Then another four, moving together. None of them paid her the slightest heed. At last, one final Gazimon emerged from the cart and lowered himself shakily to the ground. Sora recognized one of Datamon's assistants, the one with the broken ear, and remembered that she had liked him in an a vague, abstracted way. He had seemed far too young to be in the service. He had been fragile, wincing at casual insults and avoiding his contemporaries. Whenever anyone displayed the slightest measure of kindness towards him, he worshiped them, following them tirelessly until they shook him off. Now, she smiled at him, and he returned the gesture.

   "Hey," he said weakly. He looked to the ground. Then, galvanized, he ran forward. "Listen," he said, holding his rifle up to Sora, "You'd better have this. I only have to get away from here, but you…" Then he was gone, past her, following his comrades. She turned to look after him. Across the square, Gazimon were fighting Gazimon, clawing, firing, bludgeoning each other with the barrels and stocks of their guns. As many wore the same uniform, it was impossible to tell faction from faction. The former lab assistant was nowhere to be seen. 

   "I have only so much time," Datamon said, "Make your decision. I will allow you…twenty seconds.

   "Nineteen seconds…

   "Eighteen seconds…

   "Seventeen seconds…

   "Kabuterimon," Izzy shouted, "Drop the clone!"

   Datamon's expression flickered in surprise, but he continued to watch, taking no action. Thirty-three feet above the ground, Kabuterimon released Tai, bellowing 'Electro Shocker' at the same instant. A sphere of writhing static erupted from his mouth and struck SkullGreymon in the face, blinding him, and forcing him back into the façade of a building. Tai, entirely limp, began a headfirst descent. Izzy watched dispassionately, thinking _it isn't really him, it isn't really him…_

Then, that illusion was shattered. Seeming to come to his senses, Tai uttered a deafening scream. It was noise no creature could summon unless it feared for its life, and Izzy realized his mistake in an instant. "Kabuterimon…No! Catch him!"

   "Dark shot!" SkullGreymon howled, and a missile detached itself from his back. Moving as quickly as the missile, Kabuterimon darted upward and out of its path. It struck a building with a cataclysmic explosion, collapsing two floors and sending the roof up in a shower of alabaster. Tai continued to fall, now writhing, searching in vain for something to cling to. Izzy's eyes traced his path, unwilling to look away. Then they made out an image so serendipitous he dismissed it as a mirage—a man stood calmly beneath the boy with his arms outstretched. He recognized Joe. 

   Izzy smiled. Even as joy began to rise within him, it was quashed. Fluidly, Datamon seized hold of his arm.

   "A complicating agent has been introduced into this situation," he said, "Everything is compromised. I can no longer allow you live. Data Cr—" And another complicating agent was introduced. A rifle was fired, and a shot struck Datamon's body. The Director spasmed and fell back, his eyes revolving in their sockets. His visible brain convulsed.

   Izzy whirled, and saw Sora holding the weapon. Her grip was uncertain, but that had not hindered her aim. Her expression was one of utter confidence. "You won't win," she declared, but Datamon regained his balance even as she spoke.

   "Must I be forced to slaughter every last one of you?" he roared. "My experiments…no matter. My survival comes first. Kill Switch!" he roared. Steam rose from his joints. The air surrounding him seemed to liquefy. Sparks crawled across his frame like worms. Beneath him, the ground boiled, causing eddies of molten glass to form. A field of electric energy surged around him, and, with a gesture, he caused it to expand.

   Tai was still struggling when Joe caught hold of him. The impact forced the air from his lungs, and forced Joe to his knees. The boy gasped, his mouth working noiselessly, then he went limp once more. His glazed eyes stared at the face of his savior. He tried to speak, but managed only an inaudible whisper.

   SkullGreymon loomed over both of them, jaws gnashing, claws tearing into the ground. Finally recovering himself, Tai looked up, opened his mouth and spoke a single word: "Stop…" And, to Joe's astonishment, SkullGreymon complied. It froze, then a blinding glow surrounded it. Joe was forced to avert his eyes. When he looked back, SkullGreymon's bulk had vanished. Only Agumon stood there, lost, bewildered and alone.

   A drop of blood formed on Tai's lip, fell away and trailed down his cheek. Joe fought down a surge of panic, assuring himself that it couldn't be serious. Not after all of this. "Listen," he said, "Do you know me? You're safe."

   "None of this is real," Tai said. His eyes were beginning to drift shut, and the muscles of his face relaxed. Then, terror seized him. His eyes bulged and he stiffened, tearing himself away from Joe. He fell to his knees, clawing at his scalp and crying, "None of this is real, none of it, it isn't, no…they aren't dead…I haven't killed…" Then, out of breath, he continued to gasp, attempting to form the same words. Finally, one last, strangled phrase escaped his throat: "Help me!" And he passed out, falling on his side. Joe knelt. Checking Tai's pulse, he found to his immeasurable relief that it was still present. He lifted the boy, and walked to where Agumon stood. 

   "Joe?" the digimon asked, sleepily, as though awaking from a very long dream, "Is it really you? I don't know…"

   "I'm here. Everything is going to be fine," Joe said. Gingerly, he set Tai on his back beside his partner. "Just…keep him safe," he instructed Agumon.

   Dusting off his hands, he picked up the brazier, and leveled its spike in front of him. Kabuterimon descended to his right, fixing him with a questioning glance.

   "You're back?" he buzzed, then: "You're back!"                                                                                            

   "I think…I'm _all _back," said Joe, "And I'll stay." He began to walk, then, seeing the situation clearly, he broke into a run. Sora and Izzy seemed to be fleeing a wall of heat, a distortion of the air that flickered at their heels.

   "Electro Shocker!" Kabuterimon launched his attack directly at Datamon, who stood motionless, arms outstretched, eyes clenched shut in concentration. The Shocker collided with the Director's energy field. Thunder sounded, and Datamon opened his eyes, puzzlement showing in them. The field shuddered, then, destabilized, it collapsed in on itself. Datamon was engulfed in a burst of white light.

   "It's over!" Joe cried. Gravely, Kabuterimon shook his head. Datamon was reeling and shedding sparks, but he still stood. Sora opened fire on him, missing twice and then striking him in the face. 

   "You don't understand," he spluttered, "I—can't—lose—…" 

   Joe charged, shouting: "Here's one thing I couldn't do when I was twelve!" With that, he drove the spike of the brazier to its hilt Datamon's right eye. The Director screamed. Smoke billowed from his mouth, his limbs twitched and he clawed at the air. Joe raised the brazier to strike again, but Sora caught him by the shoulder.

   "He's finished, it's over, just…don't, please…" she appealed. She looked more horrified than pleased.

   "Not while there's a chance," Joe breathed. He brought his weapon down on the transparent dome shielding Datamon's brain from the world. The glass shattered, and the helpless organ was laid bare. It managed to direct its body to utter a final word—"_Maintenance…_" and then Joe swept it away, taking it in his hands. The wires that had linked it to its body snapped. A final explosion wracked Datamon's infrastructure, sending up a gout of flame, and it disintegrated. If there was any life remaining in the brain, Joe wrung it out. Cerebral fluid dripped from between his fingers. At last, satisfied, he cast the lump of flesh into the dust. He turned to the others. Sora held both hands over her mouth, and Izzy was looking pointedly away. Kabuterimon de-digivolved, and, as Tentomon, covered his eyes. For Joe, the reality of what he had done began to sink in. He couldn't bring himself to feel remorse, but the elation of victory ebbed away, leaving him empty.

   When he spoke, his voice was cold, and so low as to be little more than a whisper. "Come on. Let's go." 

   "Joe…" Sora took his hand and pressed it against her cheek, hoping to force warmth out of him, or, perhaps, into him.

   "I'm sorry," he said.

   "Don't be," she said, "It isn't worse than everything he's done to us. I shouldn't have said that, I don't know why I did. It's just that…we really _killed _him, he wasn't just _beaten _or _vanquished _or, or…"

   "And I didn't even like it," Joe said, "It just felt like it was something I had to do…and maybe it was. Doesn't matter. We're all that matter, now, we've done our best for this place. No one can say we haven't done our best." He let the brazier fall, and began to walk away.


	8. The End

Epilogue

"I'm not to blame

But something went wrong, something went wrong

and I know

I'm not to blame

Something went wrong

Can't be to blame…"

-'Used To Be A Sweet Boy', Morrissey

   Cutting a wide swathe through the dark network, the remnants of the Digidestined walked into the great desert. Their aim was simple. They were in search of the man who had the power to bring them into the digital world. They reasoned that he would also have the power to bring them out of it. They had claimed the wreckage of the battle as their own salvage, and Digitamamon had been more than happy to supply their journey in exchange for it. His supplies would last them two weeks, if severely rationed. In addition, he pledged the undying gratitude of the as-of-yet unfounded Merchant's League. It was to be a vast cartel, spanning all of File and Server, with himself at its center.

   They slept through the day, in the abandoned lairs of Dokugumon, and traveled at night. They walked in single file, Tentomon leading, Izzy carrying Gomamon and Sora carrying Biyomon, Joe and carrying Tai and Agumon carrying the bulk of their food and water. With regular meals, the Digimon were recovering rapidly. By the third day, they were intermittently conscious. By the fifth day, they could speak, though only broken apologies were offered. It had never even occurred to the humans to blame their Digimon for what had happened. By the seventh day, they were often fully awake, though still too weak to move on their own.

   Tai did not fare so well. He had been crippled by a sudden onslaught of memory and reality, forced to accept in an instant what the others had been allowed ten years to come to terms with. Then, before, he had not truly believed that T.K was dead. After all, he had seen other beings appear to be slain, only to rise again. T.K's own partner had performed such a feat. Now, denial was impossible. Added to that revelation was the weight of the countless deaths he, himself had caused, and of the countless more he would have gladly caused, had he remained in Datamon's service. Nor was that all. When, in a fleeting moment of lucidity, he had asked after Matt and Mimi, Izzy had simply answered that they were 'gone'.

   He was never fully awake, and his eyes were never fully closed. At his best, he recognized objects and voices, but dismissed them as phantoms in a dream. When he could speak sensibly, he did so to inanimate objects, people only he could perceive or people he mistook for others. Sora was often taken for his sister, Kari, a girl she remembered. She would do her best to play the part, never knowing if Tai appreciated it. Several times he addressed Izzy as his father, speaking of trivial matters, what was for dinner, when could they buy a new television. Once, after nearly closing his eyes, he came suddenly to his senses and, looking Joe in the face, asked his mother when she was picking him up from soccer practice. Joe named a random hour, and the boy's train of thought meandered elsewhere. No one laughed.

   The sight of Agumon only agitated him. He would look away, ignore words from his partner and at last fall into a violent delirium, lashing out at everything around him. For hours after such encounters, he would not speak, and would lie as though dead.

   Joe carried him with one hand supporting his head, and one finger intermittently measuring his pulse.

   It was not until the fourth day that they caught sight of the tower. It was a point of light on the horizon, then, and Izzy correctly guessed that it was a metal construct. From then on, they kept it directly ahead of them, and it grew from a point into a needle. By the seventh day, its full outline was discernible. It was thin, high and cylindrical, and there was a shimmering around its base that could have been a moat, or, as Izzy suggested, a mirage.

   It was a moat. On the ninth day, the Digidestined stood, dumbfounded, on the far side of it. There was no way across. The water gleamed like quicksilver, giving no idea of its depth. Consuming half of their remaining rations, Tentomon digivolved. Kabuterimon ferried Joe, Tai and Gomamon across, deposited them on the flat roof of the tower and then returned for the others. As soon as he landed with them, he de-digivolved, winded.

   The tower's exterior was featureless. This could be seen at once. Still, they pretended to examine it for a moment. Izzy was about to suggest a course of action when a voice echoed up from underneath them:

   "Intruders! Declare yourselves." It was human, barely. It more befit a ghost than a man, it was ancient, wheezing and creaking.

   "Jyou Kido," said Joe, "Sora Takenouchi, Koushiro Izumi, Taichi Kamiya, Gomamon, Biyomon, Tentomon, Agumon. You know us."

   There was a very long pause. At last, the withered voice said: "Yes……I know. I have been expecting you, for some time…please…" At Joe's feet, the metal fell away, revealing a staircase leading into darkness. He climbed down without hesitation.

   "In the end, you killed them," he began, before he even saw the old man's face, "It was you all along. We were so many bullets to you."

   "This was never meant to happen," Gennai's voice protested, "I could not have foreseen…"

   "Neither could we. We could not even have imagined it. If anyone had told me, all those years ago, that it would come to this…" He reached the foot of the stair. At once, lights flared, monitors hummed to life and the room was dimly illuminated. It was circular, and cramped with machinery. At the center of a cluster of a computers, a decrepit wheelchair stood. Gennai was sunken so deeply within it that, at first, Joe missed him. The old man raised a hand, though whether in greeting or to ward off attack, it was impossible to tell.

   "Hello again," said Sora.                                                                                                                                     

   "Thank you, young lady, for your courtesy…" said Gennai. Joe walked up to him, within an inch of his face. He stood over six feet tall, while Gennai, sitting, rose only half as high.

   "Answer to me," said Joe, "I know words can't fix anything. But I want them anyway."

   Gennai sighed, and Joe imagined he could hear his bones rattling within him. "I did everything within my power," he said.

   "Then…then why, _why are you still alive_? You didn't do everything, didn't even come close…some of us died. Others died, your old gang, trying…and you. Locked away here, still scheming. Were there others you had your eye on? Of course there were, there were thousands of candidates, millions, countless human children eager to die for you and ideas…how many before us? How many after?"

   "Joe!" Izzy rushed to him, prepared to hold him back. "Nothing is his fault…"

   "Maybe not. But haven't you ever considered it? Even once, haven't you considered it? That none of this ever would have happened without him? I know you have." He stalked away from Gennai, and set Tai down by the stairs, briefly pressing a hand to his forehead.

   "It was a mistake, a miscalculation…" Izzy began.

   "I'll say it was. The mistake was sending us out. Anything after that only compounded it. Maybe we could beat Devimon. But then he sent us in over our heads, way over, and I can't prove it but I think, I'm sure _he knew it_…"

   "I never!" Gennai shouted. It came out feebly, but it was stronger than any words he had uttered so far.

   "It doesn't matter," said Joe, "We can't prove it either way. But this much is true. He took children, sent them to die…why? He said there was a prophecy. Of course we believed him, he was older, the only adult, the only one we could look to. He knew that. He milked for everything it was worth…"

   "Please…" Sora stepped forward, "Can't you see this won't do any good? Even if he is…what you say he is, he's nearly dead, he can't be expected to answer for anything. Let's just get what we came for, and leave him…"

   Gennai held a hand to his forehead. "Yes, I admit…the prophecy and so on was a bit of an elaboration, a…falsification…on my part. But I couldn't expect children to understand. Politics, morality, it was all beyond you…you wanted to be heroes, not soldiers…and I gave you everything you wanted…everything…"  

   Izzy's mouth snapped shut, and he stood silent, enraged. Sora regarded Gennai blankly.

   Tentomon spoke: "Now, just hear him out…!"

   "Of course," said Joe.

   "What I wanted…was all that any benevolent being ever wants, the greatest amount of good for the greatest number of people…and I did not mean to _sacrifice_ you, I never did…with your help, I meant to eliminate beings who, for their various reasons, caused harm to others…Datamon once said I would ever underestimate him. To imagine he was right…I did not think him of any consequence. And perhaps…I had begun to believe, to some extent, in my own words…the prophecy…"

   Izzy turned to his partner. "Tentomon? You knew?" he asked, matter-of-factly. Tentomon looked away. Agumon, also, could not meet anyone's gaze.

   Gennai was not through: "But I had underestimated you, as well. Children were used because their minds were best attuned to the realities of the digital world…but you were not powerless…you act as though I have deceived you, and I have, however…it was not as though I told you that you would be fed, and then sent you into an abattoir…you knew you were fighting, and you knew, to some extent, what you would face, and you faced it…with astonishing strength…and courage…" His voice failed him. By speaking scarcely above a whisper, he had exhausted it.

   "Well. See what's come of courage," said Joe, and he looked down at Tai. The boy's breathing was ragged, and one hand was clamped over his eyes.

   "Gennai," said Izzy, making every effort to control his voice, "We came here for one thing, and that alone. We want to go home."

   "But…" said Sora, "Most of all, I have to get Tai home. I think…there's more hope for him than there is for any of us. He can forget all this…"

   "Oh, he can't _forget_," said Joe.

   "Please!" Izzy snapped, "We can talk later on."

   "There is a way out," said Gennai, "There has been, all along…but do not think that for all of these years, you could have used it! You could not have left New Cairo, and I could not bring it within the city because of the network, I have not hidden it from you…"

   "I don't believe you," said Joe, "But I imagine that comes as no surprise. Where is it?"

   "It is not anywhere, or rather, it is everywhere…it is a program that I have designed, had designed long ago. If you will allow me a moment…please, only a moment…" He tapped a number of keys on a console to his right. Each motion was a tremendous effort. "There you have it. I believe you will find it…on the roof…go, then, only remember…remember…"

   "What?" Izzy said.

   "Please, only think of me kindly…" Gennai pleaded.

   "You ask too much," said Joe. Taking Tai into his arms, he began to climb the stair. Izzy, saying nothing, followed with Tentomon. Sora lingered a moment, and looked at the wreck man on his wreck of a throne, who did not have much longer, and knew it, and had a lifetime of failures at his back.

   "I will," she said softly.

   "You must have known all along," Joe was saying, "And _you_…I can't believe it."

   Izzy came to a stop on the last step, looking up at him. "Listen," he said, "I know what you expect from me. But you've changed as much as anyone, you should know personality isn't static. After…what happened, I was alone, so I had to be _more_, you see? I filled a niche in the group, but then there was no group. It wasn't enough for me to be intelligent, I had to be courageous, reliable, compassionate…I tried. And besides, I decided that thinking, knowledge was useless if it couldn't save anyone." He climbed to the roof as Sora came up behind him. "So you see," he went on, "How I've become what I am. And what good it's done."

   "Izzy," said Tentomon, "You were spectacular…"

   "I was an idiot," he insisted.

   Joe gave a sickly laugh. "Well, there's no reason you couldn't be both, is there? That's exactly what we were, the Digidestined, spectacular idiots…we failed in_ style_…"

   "There's our ride," said Sora, pointing. Two metal cables, descending from the sky, had fastened themselves to the edge of the tower. As they watched, a metal conveyance slid between them, a metal box with windows and doors.

   "Cable car," said Izzy. As he spoke, a dark speck came into view, drawing nearer in pace with the car. "And we all know who that must be," he added.

   "Demidevimon?" Joe guessed.

   "Who else?" said Izzy. "Even if there was never any prophecy, I still find it difficult to believe that there is no such things as destiny."

   It was Demidevimon. The former Lord Sovereign was charred and battered, but  not humbled. His wings had become so ragged that he could hardly fly, and one of his eyes had become swollen shut. His voice carried down to them: "What're you waiting for!?"

   "What are talking about?" Izzy returned.

   "Finish the job! Blast me!" Demidevimon blustered. Landing, he extended his wings, presenting a greater target. The Digidestined only stared at him. He preened for a moment. "You know," he said, "Recently, after all that…rough business, I was feelin' pretty low. Thought I hadn't pulled my weight in this world. Hadn't done nothing worth bragging about. And I'm getting on in years anyways, figured it was time to call it quits. This 'mon I used to know, he went out the same way, one day he just decided he was finished and that was that. And maybe I didn't like that 'mon so much while he was living, but the way he went he went out, I could respect that. So I thought to myself-…"

   "Get out of our way," said Joe, "I couldn't possibly care less."

   Demidevimon held up a wing. "Hear me out! Won't take long, I'll be done talkin' soon enough. Anyway, no matter how many things I've done wrong, there's one thing I know I've done right." He brandished the crest of hope, and it gleamed as it caught the sun.

   Izzy spoke without emotion. "The boy you killed for that trinket was eight years old. Humans, on average, have a lifespan of over eighty years. He had lived less than an eighth of his life. By our standards, he was helpless. In all likelihood, his parents would not have let him cross the street unless one of them was holding his hand. And you consider it to your credit that you able to kill him. Not only that, but he was asleep, and his partner was unable to digivolve to the Champion level, and you were backed by Datamon, Birdramon and a platoon of armed guards. I repeat—you consider it to your credit that you were able to kill him?"

   Demidevimon seemed shaken, but he continued to speak. "Well so what? The fact is I killed him. And you must hate me for that, right? Must wanna kill me, right? I threw my lot in with the bad guys when I was In Training. Now I wanna go out like a genuine bad guy. What do you say?"

   "A word of advice," said Izzy, "If you ever intend to be a politician. Never tell your enemy what you want. They won't let you have it." He walked past Demidevimon, kicking him lightly out of the way. 

   The former Lord Sovereign was momentarily stupefied, then raged: "Fine! But take this damn thing anyway, it's only slowing me down! I'll find some other neat way to die," and he tore the crest of Hope from his neck, pitching it at Izzy. The boy caught it single-handedly.

   Soon, Gennai's tower was only another grain of sand in the desert beneath them. The air around them was paling with clouds. On the horizon, far away, Datamon's network was a dark band, of no more width than a human hair. There was no other living thing in sight. Except for the hum of the cable car's engine, it was silent.

   There had been no farewells, not a word had been exchanged between human and Digimon. There was nothing left to say.

   Three adult humans fit comfortably within the confines of the car. Tai rested in Joe's lap, with his head on Sora's knees. Presently, his eyes fluttered open, and he said very clearly: "Kari?"

   "I'm here," Sora answered.

   "No, that isn't you, you're…Sora? What're you doing here? Is this the bus?"

   "Right," answered Sora, stroking his hair, "The bus."

   "Oh." Tai seemed puzzled, but gave a faint smile. "Camp's through already? But you weren't there, were you…Kari? Sora was. Isn't Sora here? I thought…just a second ago…but I don't remember. Wasn't it…snowing?"

   "Yeah." Sora echoed his smile. "It was snowing."


End file.
